


Pumpkin Spiced Asshole

by lolo313



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Art, Big Bang Challenge, Enemies to Lovers, Face-Sitting, M/M, Rimming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-24
Updated: 2017-09-24
Packaged: 2019-01-04 21:54:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 25,053
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12177264
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lolo313/pseuds/lolo313
Summary: Merlin is content with his life: he runs a charming little cafe, his favorite client Gwaine is endlessly flirty, and his best friend Gwen is happy with her boyfriend Lancelot. So what if it's been a while since he's had a date?Arthur is proud of his accomplishments: he heads a multi-million dollar corporation, he's respected by his employees, and he has everything he could ask for. So what if his last attempts at romance were a complete disaster?A ruined pair of loafers changes everything.





	Pumpkin Spiced Asshole

**Author's Note:**

> So many people to thank! First and foremost, thank you to the fest organizers--I can only imagine the amount of work that must go into running something as monumental as the After Camnlaan Big Bang, and the fandom would not be as wonderful without their intervention. So thank you for all your tireless work.
> 
> Thank you to my artist, Mercedes, for crafting such exceptional pieces to accompany this story. You're a true talent, and this story wouldn't be what it was without you. Thank you.
> 
> Finally, thank you to my beta, Meg. Betas are unsung heroes, so on behalf of all of fandom: thank you. I don't know what we'd do without you. 
> 
> Last but not least: thank you for reading. Enjoy.

Merlin arrived at work a little before seven like he did every morning. The shop was just as he’d left it the night before. He made a few quick jabs at the security panel by the door and turned off the alarm, which until that moment had wailed at this possible burglary. He flicked on the lights and dropped his bag in his office, though he forestalled shirking off his coat. A chill pervaded the pre-dawn air, and the countertops beneath Merlin’s fingers felt cool to his touch. One by one, he made his way around the shop, turning on machines and restocking ingredients from the storeroom in the back. Stepping up on the stool tucked behind the register, Merlin wiped away yesterday’s special with one hand, a thin piece of chalk in the other. He pondered for a moment, worrying his bottom lip and the stray flap of skin he’d spied there until inspiration struck. _It’s the great pumpkin (spice latte), Charlie Brown_. Merlin stepped down and admired his own cleverness.

            Once he had assured that the tables were wiped down and he had enough cups and lids, Merlin brewed himself a small cup of coffee, black with just a hint of sugar, which he allowed himself to enjoy as he made the rounds on his phone, checking his email and Facebook. He scrolled past pictures from parties he’d been invited to but neglected to attend, choosing instead a quiet weekend at home, catching up on series and books he’d been meaning to get around to. This would have been a pleasant, refreshing idea, had it not been the way he’d spent his past four weekends. Merlin worried perhaps he was becoming anti-social or some type of shut in. It wasn’t like he didn’t have friends—he had _loads_ of them!—but running your own business took work, and the last thing Merlin wanted to do after slaving away over an espresso machine all day was to try and muster the energy to go out and be social. He assured himself that his friends, all young professionals themselves, understood. Still, the nagging suspicion that they would soon stop inviting him altogether would not leave Merlin be.

            Luckily, Merlin did not have long to dwell on his worries, as the front door swung open with a soft, jingling chime. Merlin straightened and slid his phone back into his pocket. He ran his tongue over his teeth and put down his coffee cup. There was something about Gwaine, some meticulous combination of grooming and absolute nonchalance that inspired Merlin to look his best whenever in Gwaine’s company, but without looking like he cared too much, a feat Merlin felt confident he failed at time and time again.

            “Morning Gwaine. How’s the run?” Merlin asked as he turned to prepare Gwaine’s order.

            “Just splendid. I think I might make a personal best today.” Gwaine, wide legged, began lunging to the side, his thighs straining against the elastic of his running shorts. Merlin made a point of not staring, which Gwaine could not help but notice.

            “You know, if you didn’t stop in for coffee every morning, I’m sure you’d beat your record.”

            “True,” Gwaine admitted from between his legs, bent forward to loosen up his hamstrings, “but then getting up at the ass-crack of dawn to run would lose its allure if I didn’t always get to be your first customer of the day.” Merlin smiled as he slid Gwaine’s coffee across the counter. He couldn’t help but be flattered by Gwaine’s charm, but he did his best not to let it get to his head. Over the years they’d become good friends, and Merlin had it on solid authority that Gwaine could be a bit of a flirt. This daily attention did not make Merlin special. Besides, part of Gwaine’s appeal was his inaccessibility. Merlin was certain that if ever did date Gwaine, he wouldn’t know what to do with him. Gwaine fished into a pocket, producing some coins and a few crumpled dollar bills, one of which fell on the ground. Merlin watched him bend over, admiring the curve of his ass. _Well_ , he thought _, maybe he could think of some things_.

            “I don’t know why you don’t start paying in exact change. You order the same thing every time, you know how much it costs.”

            “Yes, but you’re so cute when you’re trying to count.” Gwaine accepted his change, and the bird Merlin flipped him, with a gracious, if not dazzling, smile. “Same time tomorrow?”

            “It’s a date,” Merlin said with a roll of his eyes. He watched him leave and got down to business.

            Work was steady, if not busy. Despite the constant flow of customers, Merlin didn’t feel overwhelmed, and even found a moment or two or catch his breath in-between waves. In one such reprieve, he managed to text Gwen and see how her weekend getaway had gone.

            _So did he propose?_

**What?**

_Lance._

**Why would Lance propose?**

_He’s your boyfriend?_

**…and?**

_And you’ve been dating for nearly two years now._

**…and?**

_And you went away this weekend._

**The Battle of Hastings took place in 1066.**

_…what? What does the Battle of Hastings have to do with anything?_

**Oh, I thought we were just listing off random facts.**

_Don’t tell me he booked a romantic cottage on the sea side with absolutely zero intention of popping the question!_

**Two consenting adults can simply get away for the weekend and spend some quality time alone.**

_You live together._

**Thomas Edison invented the lightbulb.**

_Actually, that’s a debatable point. He actually stole the patent from Tesla._

**Is this what you do on first dates? Speaking of, weren’t you supposed to have dinner with that bloke on Saturday? How did that go?**

            Truth be told, Merlin had made plans to see someone on Saturday. No one special, just some guy he’d met on Tinder. A child really, he wasn’t even twenty two, but at the last moment Merlin had offered some flimsy, false excuse, as he always did. As he did now, claiming he’d gotten a sudden rush and that he’d call her later.

            The so called rush was only a mother and her two children, but Merlin was sure Gwen wouldn’t appreciate the nuance of his half-truth.

            “Hello there, how may I help you?”

            The mother, struggling under the weight of a heavy diaper bag and an infant in arms, ordered a tea for herself, and a hot chocolate for her son, who was currently pulling out handfuls of napkins from the dispenser on a nearby table. Merlin eyed the child as he slid the woman’s card through the machine, his gaze darting between the growing mess and the seemingly disinterested parent. It was only when Merlin turned to begin making the beverages that the woman seemed to notice the mischief her child had been getting up to. The whirring hiss of the coffee machine masked her exasperated shout.

            Merlin brought the drinks over to their table, accepting the apologetic smile offered by the woman. Seemingly content with his treat, the boy settled into his seat, both hands clasping his cup and tilting it to his lips. Returning behind the counter, Merlin felt his phone buzz in his pocket.

**I’ll stop by around lunch, you can give me all the details then.**

            Merlin groaned and wondered what he would say. Gwen meant well, he was certain, but her concern could come off as nagging. It’s not that Merlin relished being single, but not everyone could simply stumble upon a handsome, sensitive, intelligent stranger in a bookstore like she did. Merlin loved her, truly, but if he had to sit through one more blind date with one of Lance’s friends _who would be just perfect for you_ , Merlin would probably have a stroke. But perhaps this was the karmic price he had to pay for his white lie earlier, and figured he probably deserved it. Besides, it was always easy enough to turn the conversation to other things once Gwen got going.

            A crash and the sudden breaking of porcelain reminded Merlin that karma was never that easy. The mother apologized profusely as she tried to sop up the mess, but Merlin assuaged her guilt with a practiced smile.

            “Hazard of the job. Happens all the time. No, please, let me.” Gingerly, Merlin picked up the larger pieces, careful so as to not cut himself. The sodden napkins had hurt more than helped, effectively creating more mess. With a sigh, Merlin went and fetched the mop and bucket from the back. It was a quick job, and luckily most of the morning crowd had already cleared out. With a few, quick swipes, Merlin had cleaned up most the mess. Thinking nothing of it, he carried the bucket to the front door, as he did every night after closing, backing into it to push the door open with his hip, and twisted to dump the bucket out onto the sidewalk and splashed the dirty water onto an impeccably dressed business man’s very expensive shoes.

 

            Arthur Pendragon detested tardiness, in himself and others. Which is why, as the CEO of Pendragon Industries, Arthur insisted on managing his own schedule. You couldn’t be late for a meeting if it didn’t start till you arrived. This freedom allowed Arthur to awaken leisurely every morning and to make his way into work with an ease and calm relished by wage slaves. After a hearty breakfast, Arthur would shower, shave, and dress appropriately for whatever the day had in store for him. On this particular morning, it was a meeting with the shareholders, then a lunch with some prospective investors. Which is why he’d selected his Armani suit, the one that most flattered his figure, and paired them with a pair of Dolce and Gabbana shoes. However, once he’d dressed and dabbed a drop of cologne behind both ears, Arthur noticed a text from his sister, informing him that she’d stolen away his chauffeur due to, as she called it, _a life or death emergency_. Which meant Arthur would have to call a cab or walk to work.

            Despite the fact that his office was located a scant few blocks away, Arthur seldom made the journey on foot. It’s not that he viewed bipedal transportation beneath him, nor that he was opposed, either physically or morally, to exercise. In fact, Arthur cycled often, or as often as he could get out of the city, and had played a bit of rugby at university, enjoying the occasional pickup game. It was simply that his father had never instilled in his children the habit of walking anywhere, preferring always to travel by car. Besides, most days Arthur had plans after work, and it just made sense to keep the car handy, in case a sudden need arose. But lacking an alternative, and being in no great hurry, Arthur elected on a whim to brave the elements and stroll to work.

            Stroll really was the word to describe it, seeing as he stopped whenever the fancy struck him, most often when he spied something that caught his interest. He spent a good fifteen minutes perusing the offered publications at a newsstand before purchasing a copy of _The Economist_. He lingered over a colorful instance of graffiti, even going as so far as to send of picture of it to Morgana, who appreciated these sorts of things. Finally, he stopped in front of a coffee shop, one of those dime a dozen, free-trade eco organic pop ups populated with hipsters and brimming with charm. True, he’d already had his coffee, but today felt like a day for spontaneity, and besides, Arthur had just caught sight of the man working there. The chance to admire his cheekbones and good natured smile up close was well worth an overpriced cappuccino. In fact, the man was coming towards the door, and Arthur felt almost entranced by his Dumbo ears and mop of black hair. And that was when the man propped open the door and upended a bucket dirty water on his shoes.

 

            To say the man looked angry would be an understatement. _Livid_ seemed more apt. While shock drained the color from his face, a vein pulsed in his forehead as color rushed back to his cheeks, coloring them a blotchy red. Merlin opened and closed his mouth, trying to stammer out an apology, but it was not every day that you ruined a handsome blonde’s designer shoes before lunchtime, and Merlin found himself at a loss for words.  At last, he groped at his waist and offered the rag that hung there.

            “What am I supposed to do with that?” The man didn’t exactly sneer, but nor did he accept the proffered rag, which, now that Merlin looked closely, did not appear to be in any state to clean up a mess of this magnitude. Merlin let his arm by his side drop with a dejected flop.

            “I’m sorry.” Merlin’s voice, feeble and barely above a whisper, came out almost as a croak, so tight was his throat. “Really.” The blonde, who really shouldn’t be this attractive when fuming, scoffed at Merlin’s apology. “Are they—”

            “Expensive? Very.”

            Merlin flinched at the man’s clipped, harsh tone. “I was going to say ruined…”

            At this the man outright laughed, extending a foot forward beneath Merlin’s downcast gaze. “You tell me.” And true, Merlin preferred bargain-bin sneakers and slip-ons, but even he could tell the sodden, warped leather shoes were gone beyond hope. He also could not help but notice the sculpted thigh, tensed beneath the thin fabric of the man’s pants leg.

            “I really am sorry. I’ll pay for them, of course.” The man looked Merlin up and down, and then turned to stare through the window of the coffee shop. A bemused grin condescended on his lips, as if Merlin were a child arguing that no, really, he was going to dig a hole to China. The glint of laughter in the man’s eyes pricked Merlin’s pride and pushed him to insist. “Just tell me how much they cost. I can cut you a check right now.”

            “It’s fine,” he said, placing a placating hand on Merlin’s shoulder, “I’d hate to run you out of business.” Merlin shrugged off the man’s touch and fixed his face into a determined glare.

            “I insist. How much do I owe you?”

            The blonde let out a light sigh and rolled his eyes, finding all this mildly amusing. “Look, it was my fault. What was I thinking, walking on the sidewalk? I couldn’t live with myself if I made you take all the blame.”

            Merlin’s cheeks colored in frustrated embarrassment. Despite the man’s mocking, Merlin refused to allow him the satisfaction of refusing his money. “Fine. Then let me pay half, at least.” For a moment the man hesitated, before nodding.

            “Alright.”

            “Right, good.” Merlin felt less than thrilled with his victory, but he tried to match the man’s smugness. “So how much?”

            “Four hundred dollars.”

            Merlin hoped his face did not show the sudden drop his stomach had just taken.“Fine, that’s fine. Let me go write you a check for two hundred.” But as Merlin turned to walk back into the shop, the man’s little laugh stopped him. He turned, inquisitive lift to his eyebrow.

            “Four hundred is half.” This time, Merlin was certain his face did show his bowel’s sudden plunge. Sensing his despair, the man waved off Merlin’s concerns. “See? I told you. Don’t worry about it.” He turned and began to walk away.

            “Free coffee!” He paused mid-step, turning to look back at Merlin. “Free coffee for a year.”

            “Running some desperate promotion?”

            “To pay back your shoes. In installments…”

            “…of $4.99 a cup.”

 

            “You gave him what?” Gwen stopped mid-chew on a banana berry muffin. “But I’ve been coming here for years! I was your very first customer!” Merlin side-eyed her at her perch at the register.

            “So? And I told you, you can’t be back here.”

            Unperturbed, Gwen barreled on. “If anyone should be getting a year of free coffee it should be me. Where’s your customer loyalty?”

            “Well I didn’t just ruin a pair of your shoes that cost more than my rent.”

            “What would $800 dollar shoes even feel like?” Gwen dawdled at her canvas slip-ons. “I’d be too afraid to walk in them.” She nodded her chin at Merlin. “For good reason, apparently.”

            She managed to dodge the rag Merlin tossed at her. “You should have seen the way he sneered at me. Like his shoes were worth more than my store.”

            “They practically are.”

            “That’s beside the point. It’s the principle of the thing.” Gwen looked unconvinced. “I apologized!”

            Gwen came and placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. “At least he’s handsome, right?”

            Merlin rolled his eyes and turned to restock the paper cups. “In a pompous, better-than-thou, I could buy and sell you over lunch sort of way.”

            “Well, it’s not like you have the pick of the litter.”

            Merlin whirled around, clutching a stack of cups to his chest to try and mitigate the great injustice laid upon him. “Excuse you! I’m not _that_ desperate.”

            “Look, I don’t mean anything by it. But you have seemed a bit…lonely, recently. That’s all.”

            Merlin sighed, more frustrated than upset that despite his protests, Gwen was right. Building and running a business took _time_ , and Merlin had yet to figure out how to add more hours to the day or survive without sleeping. Besides, the men he met online seemed interested in only one thing. Not that Merlin was opposed to a good shag—far from it. But he appreciated it more when it wasn’t a torrid fifteen minutes in a bar bathroom. Merlin craved substance.

            “I’m fine, really,” Merlin lied. “Besides, if I get too lonely, I can always ask Gwaine out.”

            Gwen perked up, practically beaming. “Merlin, that’s a brilliant idea! No,” she pressed on, ignoring Merlin’s eye roll, “no, really, it is! He’s mad about you, you said so yourself!”

            “Gwaine’s mad about himself. He’s a flirt, that’s all.”

            “Merlin!” Gwen whined. Then, as if struck by sudden inspiration, Gwen grabbed his shoulders and stepped onto her tiptoes so her face loomed in front of his. “Invite him to my Halloween party.”

            “What?” Merlin tried to edge back, but Gwen’s grip proved ironclad. “What Halloween party?”

            “The Halloween party Lance and I are throwing.”

            “You’re throwing a party? When did you decide that?”

            “Just now.” Gwen’s eyes seemed aglow with vigor and purpose. Merlin felt slightly unsettled.

            “And how will Lance will about this?”

            “Oh he’ll love it!” Gwen shrugged off Merlin’s concern. “He relishes any chance to dress up.”

            “I thought I asked you not to tell me about your sex life.”

            Gwen swatted his arm. “Hush. And I’m serious. Invite him! If you don’t, I will.”

            Gwen walked out from behind the counter, slinging her bag back over her shoulder. Merlin watched her, a worrying weight in his stomach.

            “You wouldn’t dare.”

            Gwen stopped and turned back, giving Merlin her best _I mean business_ stare.

            “Try me.”

 

            “Did you get his number at least?” Arthur bent further over his desk, doing his best to focus on the report before him, but Morgana was having none of it. “I swear, Arthur if you didn’t ask for his number…”

            “What for?” Arthur shut the folder he’d been pouring over and sat back in his chair. He rubbed the side of his temple where he felt a migraine starting to form. “I know where he works.”

            “Yes, but what if you’d like to speak with him _after business hours_?”

            Arthur spun round in his chair to make sure Morgana saw the incredulous lift of his brow. “What on earth are you implying? The man ruined my shoes, you think I’d let him ruin my evening by asking him out?”

            “Who said anything about asking him out?” Morgana toyed with a cuticle. “I just figured you send him a dick pic at ten thirty at night after a bottle of Bordeaux like you did with your last assistant, what’s his name.”

            “That is _not_ —look, Mordred left of his own volition for a better position.” Arthur stabbed an accusatory finger, but Morgan simply shrugged.

            “I’m sure any position is better than bent over backwards licking your boots.” Morgana hopped off the edge of the desk and marched round to face Arthur. “You might be content to live out your sad, little, celibate existence, but frankly, it’s bumming the rest of us out.” She seized the arms of his chair and brought her face down in front of his. “Ask him out. Ask anyone out. I don’t care who. But just, for fuck’s sake, Arthur. Live a little.”

            Arthur tried to come up with something biting, some quip about how he didn’t have to chase after the first bloke to wink at him like Morgan did, but by the time he finished sputtering and actually got his senses together, she’d already shut the door on her way out. Arthur slumped back against his chair and swiveled.

 _What did Morgana know of his love life?_ True, he hadn’t dated anyone per se for a while now, but that didn’t mean he was lonely or to imply that this wasn’t by choice. What Arthur had said was true—doing what he did took time. Perhaps, more time than he should have permitted. But he was dedicated to his work, and damn good at it too. And it wasn’t as if he never went out, or never met anyone. But these drunken midnight affairs rarely lasted till breakfast and never longer. The flippant men proved amusing but of little substance, like finely decorated, hollow cakes. As for that ghastly business with Mordred…call it a poor joke, call it improperly thought out, either way it was unfortunate. A few…glasses of wine and he lost all good sense. And inhibitions.

            Perhaps Arthur hadn’t gone out as recently as he thought.

            Arthur pressed on the intercom. “Leon? Could you come in here for a moment?”

            “Yes, sir?” Leon popped, head and vested shoulder, into Arthur’s doorway.

            “Cancel my ride for tomorrow morning. I think I’ll walk into work again.”

            “Really? After what happened today?” Leon came fully into Arthur’s office and bumped the door shut, leaning his back against it.

            “I’m feeling…bold.” Arthur sat up and flipped open the folder he’d been reading. “That’s all.”

            “Have you been talking to your sister?”

            Arthur looked up from his work. “Why do you ask?”

            “Because she always manages to talk you into a bad idea.”

 

            For the first time in a long time, the idea of going to work made Merlin nervous. He’d been up half the night, tossing and turning. When his alarm had finally gone off, it sounded like a death sentence. He’d dragged his feet through breakfast, and no matter the amount of scone he swallowed, nothing could dislodge the ball of dread settled in his stomach. _What if he shows up_ , Merlin worried as he biked to work, or worse, _what if he doesn’t_?

            As he busied himself setting up, Merlin cast frequent, furtive glances at the clock, watching the minute hand tick ever closer to open. He paced, head whipping round each time the door opened, only to be greeted by a retinue of regulars. Slowly, as the day bled into normalcy, Merlin relaxed. He felt his shoulders soften, and his stomach gently unwound itself. He’d even managed to keep up with Gwaine, who’d been in rare form, and had told him exactly what he could do with the can of whip cream he’d been ogling. After he’d been open for a few hours, Merlin figured he’d nothing more to worry about. Surely the prat wouldn’t be stopping by, and it was not without a twinge of regret that Merlin put the matter behind him.

            Which, of course, is exactly when Arthur walked through the door.

            Merlin had been wiping down the counter, enjoying a lull between customers, when he’d heard the front door jingle. He looked up to find the man from yesterday tucking his sunglasses into a front pocket as he gave the shop an appraising scan. Merlin did his best to pick his guts up from around his ankles as Arthur strode up to the counter. His face was somewhere between a grin and a snarl.

            “Good morning.”

            “M-morning.” Merlin fumbled with his fingers before tucking his hands behind his apron. “How may I—” Merlin cleared his throat “—how may I help you?” Arthur _hmm_ -ed in thought as he scanned the blackboard over Merlin’s head.

            “What’s a ‘pumpkin, spice, and everything nice latte’?”

            “It’s a pumpkin spice latte with an extra shot of vanilla and espresso.”

            Arthur cocked an eyebrow and lowered his gaze to Merlin’s. “So it’s just a pumpkin spice latte then?”

            “…with an extra shot of vanilla and espresso.” Arthur looked back up at the menu. Merlin felt the color rising up his neck, but from rage or embarrassment he couldn’t say.

            “Look, why don’t you just make me a cappuccino, okay?”

            Without a word Merlin turned and started packing coffee grounds and topping up the milk. While he worked, he flitted a glance back; Arthur stood, weight shifted towards one foot, flipping through his phone.

            Arthur did not look up from his phone. “So how long have you worked here?” It was as if he was asking himself the question, and for a second Merlin didn’t answer, wondering if he was talking on Bluetooth, but then Arthur lifted his gaze and caught him staring. “Well?”

            “I…since we opened.” Merlin turned on the espresso machine. A loud hiss momentarily overtook the shop. Arthur dropped his eyes back down to his phone.

            “Must be in good with the boss then.”

            Merlin guffawed, sliding Arthur’s cup across the counter. “I’d hope so.”

            Arthur looked up, noticed the porcelain cup and saucer. “I asked for this to go.”

            Merlin could feel the tendons in his neck tighten. “No, you didn’t. Would you like me to pour it into a to-go cup for you?”

            Arthur flicked out his wrist and looked at his watch, considering. “I’m in no rush. Besides, I’d hate to give up the chance to appreciate all the,” Arthur did a slow half-turn, “… _charm_ this place has to offer.”

            “Yes, well.” Merlin fumed as he tapped the order into the register. “I’ll let you get to it then.” Arthur reached into his pocket. “It’s free. Remember?”

            “Of course.” He dropped two quarters into the jar labeled _Tips_. “Cheers.” He turned, took his coffee, and sat at a table by the window.

            Merlin ducked into his office as he shot a text off to Gwen.

 _If I end up in jail, will you bail me out_?

**Why are you going to jail? Indecent exposure?**

_Murder_.

**So he showed up did he?**

_He’s worse than I remembered._

**Well, your memory has always been rubbish.**

            Try as he might, Merlin couldn’t lose himself in the mundane tasks that populated his day. While restocking cups, while wiping up a spill, his eyes wandered unerringly back towards Arthur, oblivious to Merlin’s murderous intent. Merlin darted glances to stare daggers at Arthur, who sat sipping his coffee, scrolling through his phone. It was due to this hawkish awareness that Merlin witnessed Arthur lift his cup to his lips and throw his head back in that characteristic _good to the last drop_ gesture one sees so frequently when one owns a coffee shop. And if Merlin also noticed the bob of Arthur’s throat, well, that was nobody’s business but his own.

            “All done?” Merlin scooped up the cup and saucer practically before Arthur had set them down. “Glad you enjoyed.” He spun on his heel to retreat back behind the counter.

            “Could I have another?” Arthur, to his credit, did glance up from his phone, but only briefly. “And could you get me the Wi-Fi password? Thanks.”

            “You…what?” Merlin teetered where he stood, clutching the porcelain mug to his chest.

            Arthur darted another glance up. “A refill would be great. Thanks.” He returned his attention to his phone, but when Merlin didn’t budge, he lifted his eyes once more. “Unless you have some _one per customer_ policy or something.”

            “What? No, I just, I mean of course we—”

            “After all, you did say free coffee for a year. And it’s only been a day.”

 _Unfortunately,_ thought Merlin fuming as he stomped off behind the counter. If he clanged the espresso machine and slammed down the saucers harder than usual, well, that too was nobody’s business. And when he brought Arthur his refill he didn’t so much as serve it to him as fling it in his face.

            “Cheers.” Arthur didn’t deign to look up from his phone, though he did raise a finger as Merlin turned to leave. “The Wi-Fi password?”

            “You’re a massive ass so shove it. All lowercase.” Merlin turned, took two steps, and realized what he’d said. He’d meant to think it. Had intended to grab one of the slips of paper at the counter with the password printed on it. Had had every intention of texting Gwen the clever line he’d withheld in order to bask in his cleverness. And yet, his mouth had had other ideas.

            “What did you say to me?” Arthur stood and fixed Merlin with an incredulous glare.

            Merlin did not consider himself a brave man, far from it. But sometimes, when the mood struck him, he could be incredibly foolish. And this was one of those times.

            “I said you’re an ass.”

            Arthur scoffed, more amused than offended. “You can’t talk to me like that.”

            “Forgive me. You’re an ass, _sir_.”

            Arthur stepped up close, right into Merlin’s personal space. Merlin smelled his cologne—subtle, a hint of sun-warmed oak. He stared back into the blue of his eyes and wished suddenly he’d taken up Gwen’s offer to join her self-defense class. Arthur smiled like a lion about to pounce.

            “Do you know who am I? Do you know what I could do to you? All this—” Arthur swept his arm to encompass the shop “—could be gone, _snap_ , just like that.” Merlin hoped Arthur did not notice him start. “So I think you better apologize.”

            Merlin swallowed round the lump in his throat. He felt almost drunk, heady with misplaced courage. “I’m sorry you’re such an ass.”

            Arthur smirked and picked his sunglasses up off the table. “You’re going to regret this.”

            “Meeting you? I don’t doubt it.”

            Arthur gave him a cutting grin, patted him on the arm, and walked out of the store.

            Merlin proceeded, in no uncertain terms, to lose his shit. His hand wouldn’t stop shaking, and the extra-strong cup of coffee he brewed to settle his nerves only exacerbated the problem. In short order he phoned his mother, Gwen, Lance, and his landlord, Gaius. His mother was stern but sympathetic— _you poor dear, you shouldn’t have said that, he does sound like he deserved it though_ —Gwen irate and forward thinking— _how could you be so daft, Merlin, we have to plan our next step, where did you say he works again, you have to send an apology gift basket_ —Lance understanding yet misinformed— _rough times mate, sorry, let me buy you a drink, but who is this Arthur fellow, the one who comes in every morning?_ —and Gaius simply wanted to know if this meant rent would be late this month.

            Every time the door swung open, Merlin spun round, expecting—well, he didn’t know exactly what to expect. A bulldozer? A team of lawyers? Something horrible and Arthur-driven. He chewed his nails down to bloody stumps, dropped two cups, and messed up a total of eight orders.

            He was, in short, a wreck. So he felt justified in closing up early once the after-work rush petered out. But as he locked up and turned to face the darkened street, the relief Merlin had anticipated failed to manifest.

            He pictured the walk home, his dim apartment, the hours he’d spend curled up on the couch, an anxious mess. Though he seldom drank, surely no day called more for a stiff one. Merlin fished his wallet out of his pocket—empty, at least in the way that meant anything, unless the bar would take an expired Blockbuster card. Among his many punch cards and IDs, Merlin came across Gwaine’s business card, given to him oh so many months ago. And perhaps it was the stress of the day, perhaps Merlin had finally snapped and tossed all good sense out the window, or maybe it was simply the fact Merlin knew Gwaine would pay, but regardless, he pulled out his cellphone, dialed in the number, and listened to it ring.

 

            Arthur felt anything but smug. In truth, he felt more an ass than anything else, loath as he was to admit it. His foul mood must have been evident, no doubt due to the sour expression he wore upon returning to the office, since everyone did their best to stay out of his way. Memos, phone calls, board meetings, all these were disregarded, channeled through Leon, or rescheduled so Arthur could better sit and brood alone in his office. He replayed the interaction over and over in his head. It consumed him.

            The impudence, the arrogance, the complete and utter lack of respect for your betters! Just _who_ did this coffee slinger think he was?

            The answer to this question, however, eluded Arthur, despite his sleuthing. The shop possessed no website and a limited social media presence. Search as he might (and he might—on Facebook and Twitter and Google and even Linkdin, for goodness sake), Arthur came up empty handed, hindered as he was with only a first name to work with. On his tenth page of search results, he slammed his laptop shut, threw his arms in the air, and spun his chair despondently.

            “So I take it your morning went well?” Leon poked his head in through the doorway, as if peeking over a trench. Arthur scowled but kept spinning. The effect was nearly comical, but Leon thought better than to laugh. “Look, why don’t you let me take you out for a drink after work?”

            “I have a strict policy not to fraternize with my employees.”

            “Arthur, we both know that’s not true.” Leon stepped in and shut the door behind him. “Besides, this isn’t romantic, it’s practically charitable.”

            “So I’m a charity case, am I?”

            “No,” Leon straightened some papers on Arthur’s desk before righting the trashcan, “but I am. My boyfriend’s been away on business for nearly a week, and if I spent another evening alone watching Netflix and eating Chinese food I’ll hang myself. A drink would do me a world of good.” Arthur huffed noncommittedly, which Leon took to mean yes. “Perfect. And if you promise to have these signed by the end of the day,” Leon dropped a stack of forms atop Arthur’s laptop, “then the drink’s on me.”

            Arthur grumbled, but got to it. He stowed away his laptop, deleted Facebook from his phone, and somehow managed to get a little work done. The hours of the day, which once dripped, now steadily flowed, and before Arthur knew it most of the staff had left. It was nearly six when Leon knocked on the door. He’d folded his coat over his arm, and he already has his beanie pulled down over his ears.

            “Almost ready? I thought being the boss meant getting to leave early.”

            “Nearly. Let me just—” Arthur scanned the earnings report once more, gave tomorrow’s agenda a final once over, and stood, buttoning his blazer. “Right. All set. Where are we headed?”

            “The Pail. Little pub just round the corner. Low-key, friendly. You’ll love it.”

            Arthur doubted he could love much of anything, but he followed Leon as he led them out the building, slipping on his coat and tugging it tight against the wind. It was close enough to walk, practically around the corner. And though Arthur couldn’t say he _loved_ it, the place did have a cozy cheer to it, without feeling terribly crowded. Arthur’s fingers had nearly frozen off despite the short trek. Red and stiff, he flexed them as Leon made his way to the bar.

            He scanned the crowd—older, but not by much. Locals, a small after-work bunch. He found a table for two by the hearth, with a view of the bar and entrance. He slung his coat over the back of his chair and accepted the beer Leon offered him.

            “Cheers!”

            Their glasses clinked and Arthur drank a heavy draught. They made small talk, interspersed with polite sips. When they finished their first round, Leon went to grab them a second. He set Arthur’s beer down with a smile.

            “Thank you for joining me. It’s been awful without Percy at home.” Leon sipped his beer and sat back. “It’s good to go somewhere that isn’t home or the office. Not that I don’t love my job,” he hurried to add.

            “Quite. Have you two been together long?” Arthur gulped down another mouthful, surprised to feel that first, heady wave of beer began to wash over him. He wondered briefly if skipping lunch had really been the best idea.

            “Two years now. But we’ve only lived together the last six months. I was sick of paying rent for a flat I never slept in. Sorry.” Though it could have been a shadow from the fire, Arthur thought he caught Leon blush.

            “Please, I’m not a priest, I know how sex works. I’ve had it once or twice myself, thanks.” They shared a laugh, lost in their cups.

            “Right, you’re right. I keep having to remind myself this isn’t my old job, you’re not my old boss.”

            “A tosser, was he?”

            “Oh a certified wanker. Awful, truly. And the biggest homophone you’ve ever seen. I had to tell everyone Percy was my brother at the Christmas party.”

            “You shag your brother?” Arthur held a hand to his chest in a show of affront. “Leon, you pervert.”

            “Stop it!” Leon practically squealed, and Arthur was sure the red on his face wasn’t from the fire. “What else was I supposed to say?”

            “Hello sir, I’m a giant poof, and this is my poof boyfriend, and he loves taking it up the bum.” Arthur’s tongue sloshed in his mouth and he might have slurred a bit and he was now certain that skipping lunch was a bad idea but he couldn’t bring himself to care. He smiled for what felt like the first time in days.

            “Who’s to say I’m not the one taking it up the bum?” Leon quirked his brow and downed the rest of his beer. “Don’t be so presumptive.”

            Arthur bought them another round. Their conversation bounced from work to television, to childhood vacations, to past relationships. Loosened as he was, Arthur shared some of his more horrific stories, which had Leon simultaneously cringing and howling with laughter. Arthur felt his shoulders relax, and his cheeks hurt from smiling. Whatever mood he’d previously squatted in lifted, and he found himself genuinely enjoying himself.

            And then Merlin walked into the bar.

 

            Gwaine had picked the bar, insisting on its quality lagers and proximity to Merlin’s shop. Though he offered to come pick him up, Merlin said he’d walk. Truth be told, he wondered if perhaps he’d made a mistake calling Gwaine. Not that he wasn’t sure to enjoy himself, but he didn’t want to lead Gwaine on. He’d told him this upfront: one drink, light chitchat, then home to their separate beds. Gwaine had accepted all of this with a laugh, and though Merlin couldn’t be sure, he’d swore he’d heard him wink.

            Merlin got there first, but didn’t want to walk in alone, so he idled outside, checking emails and texting Gwen. He’d never been to The Pail before, though he’d passed it often enough. It seemed friendly, and always boasted a regular, if not robust, crowd. Merlin figured it’d do for one drink.

            The tips of his ears just started to turn rosy when Gwaine walked up. If Merlin thought he looked good in his running shorts, then Gwaine in a suit could stop traffic. All clean lines, sharp angles and smooth curves, everything just tight enough to whet the imagination. Merlin deeply regretted this decision.

            “Waiting on me?” Gwaine leaned in and encircled Merlin’s back with his arm. Nuzzled against his shoulder, Merlin nodded and inhaled a heady scent of cologne. “Shall we?”

            Inside was alive with the bustle of overlapping waves of multiple conversations, the clink of glasses, and the crackle of a blessedly warm fire. Gwaine took Merlin’s coat and offered to order the first round if Merlin would be so kind as to find them a table. Nestled in the heart of the pub, Merlin found two chairs. Shuffling into his seat, he inched forward to give the older gentleman behind him more room. When Gwaine set their drinks down, he nearly squashed Merlin’s fingers, which he tapped against the wood.

            “Nervous?” Gwaine sat down, took a swig from his glass, licked his lips. Merlin followed the pink tip with interest.

            “No. Not really. Maybe a little.” Merlin tapped his glass against Gwaine’s and drank.

            “Relax. This isn’t a date. Unless you want it to be.” Gwaine flashed a disarming smile, and Merlin felt his insides go all warm and soft, but chalked it up to the beer.

            Though Gwaine had visited his shop nearly daily since he opened, Merlin knew very little about him, aside from his devilish good looks and deceptive charm. So while one round turned into two, then into three, Merlin plied him for information: where had he grown up, how many siblings did he have, what was it he actually did for a living? Between bouts of interrogation, Gwaine managed to flirt, to ask Merlin about his passion for coffee, and not-so-subtly hint that he knew an even better way to wake up in the morning.

            Despite his reservations, Merlin found himself smiling and laughing, genuinely enjoying himself for the first time in what felt like forever. As the din of conversation had grown louder, they’d hunched together, till their faces hovered inches apart. Though Merlin blamed it on the beer, he couldn’t deny the rising urge to lean in and kiss Gwaine. Deciding that any such decision should be made on an empty bladder, Merlin stood to excuse himself.

            By circumnavigating the bar, Merlin found the tiny hallway that led to the restrooms. Single-use, he waited till the rather drunk gentleman ahead of him finished and slipped inside, locking the door behind him. After he relieved himself, Merlin gave a once-over in the mirror.

            True, he hadn’t dressed for a date (which this of course wasn’t), but he still came across as dapper, if he didn’t say so himself. He bared his teeth, checking for stray bits of food between them. He breathed into his cupped hand and sniffed. He tugged at his eyelid, checked for redness. When had he last had a night out? A couple beers and they’d gone straight to his head. Merlin felt light, giddy even. This might not be a date, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t permit Gwaine a goodnight kiss. Smoothing the front of his shirt, Merlin unlocked the door, grabbed the handle, and opened onto Arthur’s fat, dumb face.

 

            It had to have been Merlin.

            Arthur was sure of it. True, he’d only caught a glimpse before the sea of bobbing heads had swallowed him, but Arthur was certain he’d seen Merlin walk in with some long-haired, pretty boy asshole. And though the different yet interconnected Star Trek timelines had seemed interesting just a moment ago, they suddenly lost all power over Arthur. Scooting to the edge of his seat, Arthur craned his neck to peer around the top of Leon’s head.

            “Is everything alright?” Leon set down his beer and tried to catch Arthur’s eye.

            “Hmm? Sorry, what? Oh, right, no yeah, I’m fine. Just thought I saw someone. You were saying?” Try as he might, Arthur could no longer follow the thread of conversation. While Leon droned on about Picard and Kirk and someone named Janeway, Arthur kept shifting in his seat, adjusting his field of vision, eyes open for a splash of raven hair.

            As the evening wore on, however, Merlin failed to manifest, which, if Arthur was being honest, was probably for the best. It’s not like he’d planned on talking to him—Arthur didn’t even know what he’d say. Besides, hadn’t the whole point of going out for a drink been to _forget_ about that unpleasant barista? Still, Arthur couldn’t shake the image from his mind. Those dopey ears. That persistent grin. Those immaculate cheekbones.

            Fuck.

            Arthur did not fancy Merlin. No, that was impossible. Arthur represented the finest society had to offer. Cultured, educated, well-mannered and wealthy. He was a captain of industry, and he ran in only the most exclusive and connected circles. And Merlin? Merlin was nobody, a smalltime coffee jerk with a little shop and britches two sizes too small. Nothing more than a pernicious upstart with haunting eyes and a warm laugh and a tight bum.

 _Fuck_.

            “Where’s the bathroom?” Arthur cut Leon short.

            Leon twisted in his chair and pointed to a hallway beside the bar. “Just back there.”

            Arthur stood and excused himself. He wobbled on his first step and wondered when he’d become such a lightweight. As he edged his way through the crowd, he checked his watch, startled by the late hour. After a piss and some cold water on his face, Arthur would thank Leon for his company and call it a night. Standing before a faded door marked ‘Chaps’, Arthur reached for the handle, only for it to fly from his hand as someone stepped out of the bathroom. Someone with a dusting of pink across his cheeks, rosy ears, and the hem of his boxers poking out from the lip of his jeans.

**Fuck.**

            Arthur was, in the most literal sense, dumbstruck. How could his heart both race and seize up? His words caught in his throat and he gaped like a fish. A nervous tremor shook through his fingers. Merlin, however, appeared in no way similarly affected.

            “What the _fuck_ are you doing here?” Merlin’s pointed displeasure pierced through his slurring, barreling into Arthur’s gut.

            “I-I had to piss…” Arthur offered weakly, like an excuse, as if it weren’t the truth. “I just—”

            “Are you stalking me or something? Ruining my day isn’t enough, you’ve got to ruin my night as well?”

            And while Arthur Pendragon was many things—an asshole, a top-rate rugby player, a sometimes romantic—one thing he certainly was _not_ was a pushover.

            “Ruin _your_ day? I’m sorry, but I believe you were the one who called me—what was it again? A massive ass?” Merlin’s face colored from pink to scarlet, a hard line in his jaw twitching. “You’re right, I _must_ be stalking you, why else would I possibly be in a pub? Couldn’t be for a drink, no, or decent service from a competent business, certainly not.” Merlin’s nostrils flared with a huff. He balled his hands into fists by his side. “No, my life simply must revolve around you, how’d you figure it out?”

            “You’re such a colossal prick, you know that?”

            “Well, it takes one to know one!” Not his best line, Arthur admitted, but he was a little drunk, and this wasn’t how his evening was supposed to go down. He did not want to be insulting the cute barista with whom he’d made a terrible first (and second) impression. But the words kept spilling out of his mouth faster than he could catch them, each hurtful phrase slipping through his fingers like sand. “Look, just because your sad life is so empty you need to go inventing drama to fill it doesn’t mean you’re allowed to get me involved.”

            “Drama? Stop acting like this is some—some high school cat fight! You’re the one who followed—”

            “I didn’t follow you!” Arthur shouted, louder than he’d meant to. A noticeable dip in the conversation from the bar made him drop his voice to a hiss. “How can you be so fucking conceited?”

            “Me, conceited? Have you looked in a fucking mirror lately? Of course you have, I bet you can’t leave the house without jacking off over yourself.” Merlin crept close, his face inches from Arthur’s, the thin press of his lips nearly white. “You’re such a bloody prat. If you didn’t follow me, then what the fuck are you doing here?”

            Arthur could have said many things, the truth included. Or a million different white lies, all one step removed from what was really going on. Instead, he said, “I’m here with my boyfriend. He picked the place. I’ve never been here before.”

            As if someone had popped a pin in him, Merlin deflated. He uncurled his fists and he seemed to shrink, the color seeping from his face, like a fire dying out. A tight ball of regret settled in the pit of Arthur’s stomach, feeling as if he’d just kicked a puppy. He opened his mouth to say… _something_ , to take it back, to confess, to try and explain, but Merlin brushed past him, wordless, and was gone quicker than Arthur could react.

            Dumbly, Arthur drifted back to the table. Leon beamed till he noticed the sour cloud hanging over Arthur and the light faded from his eyes.

            “Is everything alright?”

            Arthur waved off his concern, blamed his stomach, his low tolerance, the early start tomorrow. He begged off sharing a cab, saying he preferred the walk, and that _really it isn’t that far at all_. Once alone on the corner, Arthur plodded home, feet heavy. The night air stung his nose and numbed the tips of his fingers. Back at his apartment, he shed his layers, popped two aspirin, downed a glass of water, and collapsed into bed. The sheets felt cool and empty.

            The dawn rose, bright and bitter.

 

            Merlin called in sick to work. Well, technically, he didn’t _call_ anyone, being his own boss. But the OPEN sign remained unturned, and Merlin made the social media rounds, posting and tweeting that, due to personal reasons, the shop would be closed for the day. Merlin set down his phone, heated up a frozen waffle, and drowned it in syrup. He binge-watched two seasons of Supernatural on Netflix, getting up between episodes for tea and bathroom breaks.  He wrapped his bathrobe tight against his body, snuggled within a mound of blankets. It was practically an excavation when, around noon, his phone buzzed.

            “Are you dying?”

            In the background, Merlin could hear traffic. The roar of motors and the bleats of horns nearly drowned out Gwen’s voice. He popped out his headphone, wiggled a pinkie into the crevice of his ear, and held the phone closer. “What? No. I just took a personal day.” His throat, dry and raspy, rattled from disuse.

            “Because you’re dying?”

            “No!” Merlin sighed, slumping further against his pillows. “I just…couldn’t go into work today.”

            On the other end of the line, Merlin heard Gwen chew and swallow. “That bad, huh? And Gwaine always seemed like such a catch.”

            “It wasn’t Gwaine. Gwaine was lovely.”

            “I’ll say.”

            Despite himself, Merlin laughed. His chest ached after. He opened his messages and scrolled through the texts Gwaine had sent since last night. A twinge of guilt stung between his ribs. He knew he should have tried better to explain, should have at least said goodbye and not just ghosted in a flurry of coat and scarf. But the blood had rushed too redly to Merlin’s face, his mouth tasted bitter, his tongue acidic, and he had doubted his ability to speak without shouts or tears. He’d practically run home, not stopping till his muscles had burned in protest, each breath stabbing. If his cheeks were wet, it was because his eyes had watered from the wind, or so he’d told himself.

            “So what happened?” Gwen asked.

            “I ran into that prick. The Fortune 500 bloke.”

            Merlin heard Gwen perk up on the other end of the line. “The blond heartthrob? He was there? Did he buy you a drink?”

            “What?” Merlin nearly chocked on his tea. “No, of course not! He was a right ass the second I saw him.”

            “Well what did he say?”

            “He said he wasn’t stalking me.” But saying this, out loud, in the light of day, rang hollow. Merlin hoped he didn’t sound as ridiculous as he sounded.

            “Wow, you’re right, he’s a real monster. How dare we not stalk you?”

            “Gwen…”

            “I think you’re perfectly stalkable. Trust me, if I thought I had any chances, I’d stalk the shit out of you.”

            “That’s not what I meant.” Merlin sighed and rubbed his eyes. “He just made it sound like…like anyone would be _crazy_ to stalk me. Like they’d have to be.”

            “Oh I’m sure there are perfectly stable and balanced stalkers out there. Problem is they’re all taken or gay.”

            “Gwen.”

            “What? I can’t try and lighten the mood? What do you want me to say? You know you’re a catch. And Gwaine’s obviously mad for you. So who cares what some gorgeous blond asshole has to say about it? Fuck him and his obvious lack of good taste.” A slew of foreign voices blared through the speaker. “Look, I’ve got to run. Try not to dwell on it, okay?”

            As the call disconnected, Merlin tossed his phone onto the pillow, rubbing his palms against his eyes. He shuffled out of bed, heated up some soup, and sunk into another season of television. The next day ground-hogged the last, and the number of concerned post on his shop’s Facebook page went from consolatory to frightening. Before bed, Merlin set out a fresh outfit, turning out the lights before 10pm. He rose early the next morning, showering and shaving before leaving the warm cocoon of his flat. The wind felt bracing, and he tugged his beanie down over the point of his ears.

            He opened the shop like he’d done a hundred times before: unlocking the front door, punching in the alarm code, starting the coffee to brewing, checking to make sure they had enough clean mugs. Yet something felt off, as if someone had broken in during his absence and moved all the chairs two inches to the left. He’d hardly been gone at all, but everything held a strange new energy, as if he were seeing it for the first time. He looped an apron round his waist, knotting it in the back, just as the front door chimed open.

            “Do you know how shit the coffee across the street is?” Gwaine asked, rubbing his hands together as he stepped into the warmth of the shop. “I honestly believe they served me mud in a cup.”

            “Serves you right for betraying your brand loyalty.” Merlin affected a cheerful smile, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. He poured Gwaine a cup, extra-large, and slid it across the counter. “Look, about the other night—”

            “Don’t worry about it. You’re not the first person to run out on me.”

            “I hardly think that’s true.” Gwaine’s grin was infectious and Merlin felt himself relax as Gwaine sipped at his coffee. “I can’t imagine anyone running _away_ from you.”

            “Unless they like being chased.” Gwaine winked, and Merlin blushed. “But I’m sure you have a perfectly reasonable explanation as to why you ditched me.” Merlin opened his mouth to say _yes, in fact, he did_ , but Gwaine shook him off. “I didn’t say I needed to hear it. Just that I’m sure you have one, which is good enough for me.” He smiled over the rim of his mug and Merlin wondered if perhaps Gwen had been right. Maybe Gwaine deserved more of a chance than Merlin had allowed. “Plus, you’ll make it up to me by agreeing to come to my Halloween party.” Gwaine saw Merlin’s eyes go wide, but he hurried to brush away his anxiety. “It’s very low-key, feel free to bring a friend. Unless you already had something planned?”

            Merlin did not. “Do I have to wear a costume?”

            “Of course.”

            Gwaine grinned into his coffee. Merlin smiled back. The exchange could almost be called flirtatious, and Merlin had already begun thinking what costume sent the right message of slutty yet respectful. The knot in Merlin’s stomach had just began to unwind when the front door opened with a twinkle.

 

            Arthur had been up half the night. He hoped he didn’t look it, but he could practically feel the bags beneath his eyes dragging his face down. His rumpled suit and uncombed hair only added to the effect. He’d woken his lawyer when he’d called him at six in the morning, but he’d honestly waited as long as he could. He wanted to make sure the bank transferred the money as soon as they opened, so Arthur could sign the papers by lunch.

            He’d intended to wait till everything was official before he swung by the shop, but he couldn’t resist stopping in on his way to work (in no way related to the fact that he’d neglected to make coffee before  he left). He was in no way prepared, however, to be confronted by Merlin’s date as he stepped inside. If Arthur had thought him attractive in business casual, then he was downright gorgeous in workout clothes. Honestly, shorts that short should be illegal. But he couldn’t fixate for long, since Merlin was staring at him wide-eyed and red cheeked. Arthur half-worried he’d chuck a mug at his head.

            “What the bloody hell do you want?” Merlin spat  at Arthur as the door shut behind him. His not-boyfriend started at the sting in Merlin’s voice.

            “Far be it from me to tell you how to run your business, but I don’t think you should be talking to customers that way.”

            “He’s not a customer,” Merlin corrected him, “he’s a…a…bloody clotpole is what he is!”

            Had Arthur been better rested and at full capacity, he would have found some witty rejoinder for such a ridiculous insult. As it were, he brushed down the front of his blazer and stepped forward, ignoring Merlin and offering the other man his hand.

            “Arthur Pendragon. And you are…?”

            “Gwaine Livershire. Pendragon? As in Pendragon Industries?”

            “The one and the same.” Arthur stood a little straighter and squared his shoulders, flattered to have been recognized. He ignored the daggers hurtling from Merlin’s eyes. “And what is it you do?”

            “I’m partner at Blacksmore, Willow, and Smith. You’re our biggest client.”

            A flicker of recognition clicked in his head. “Indeed. I was just on the phone with Kilgarrah this morning.” Arthur offered a conspiratorial smile. “Lovely fellow.”

            “He’s alright,” Gwaine laughed. “Bit too enigmatic for my taste, but he’s been with us forever. I think he was council to your father before you took over.”

            Arthur snapped his fingers, remembering. “That’s correct. He’s served my family well for many years.” Despite himself, Arthur felt himself liking the man. Possessed of a charming, if somewhat arrogant, manner, Arthur warmed to him as they conversed ideally, Merlin all but forgotten beside them.

            “Who knows, maybe I’ll take over for him one day.” Gwaine winked and grinned, turning to include Merlin in the joke, though he somehow failed to notice his blanched, rage-stricken face. “Look, I’ve got to run, but it’s been an honor to meet you.” Gwaine shook Arthur’s hand. “Say, are you busy this weekend? I’m having a little Halloween party for some people at the office. It’d be a huge splash if you could stop by.” Arthur swore he could hear the blood vessels popping in Merlin’s head. His eye began to twitch and his knuckles turned bone white where he gripped . Gwaine handed Arthur his card. “Let me know.”  Gwaine waved to Merlin as he left.

            Alone together in the shop, Arthur pocketed Gwaine’s card, breaking the silence with a polite cough. “Well he seems friendly.”

            “What are you doing here?”

            The hard edge of Merlin’s voice hit Arthur with such blunt force that he took a step back. Collecting himself, he cleared his voice and adjusted his tie. “Aren’t I entitled to coffee like everyone else? Besides, I believe my lifetime supply is still valid.”

            “Unfortunately,” Merlin muttered as he turned around to prepare Arthur’s order. “Though you wouldn’t know it from looking at you.”

            Arthur was thankful Merlin’s back was to him, since it meant he missed his reddened cheeks. “Yes, well, long night. Had to get some paperwork in order for a new acquisition.”

            Merlin slid Arthur’s coffee across the counter. “I didn’t ask.” Arthur took his mug, blowing softly at the coiling steam. “Now if there’s nothing else…”

            “I’m actually waiting for someone. Business meeting.”

            Merlin stared at him for a beat, blinking. “Don’t you have sky rise offices for that?”

            “This was more convenient. So I’ll just set myself up over there.” Arthur sat down at a table off in the corner, swiping through his phone while he sipped at his coffee. Merlin grabbed a rag and began aggressively wiping at a stain on the countertop. When he began to worry that he’d buff right through the wood, he switched to rearranging the mugs behind the counter. Arthur looked up at the constant clang and clatter of porcelain knocking together. “You know you’ll chip them that way. You should try and be gentler.”

            “I’m sorry,” Merlin whirled around in a huff, “but who’s the coffee shop owner here, hmm? I’m perfectly capable of running my own store, thank you very much.”

            Arthur opened his mouth to respond, but just then the front door chimed open. An older man with wild, bushy eyebrows and a wrinkled, ill-fitting suit stood in the doorway, scanning the room until he spotted Arthur. Merlin immediately recognized him. Gaius, while technically the building owner, seldom ventured out of his hermit hole to pay a visit. Merlin would call him a shut-in, but never to his face. Gaius saw him and waved before he strode over to Arthur, shaking his hand and sitting down at his table.

            Merlin watched out of the corner of his eyes as papers were pulled out of attaché cases, pens clicked, signatures scribbled at the bottom of pages, initials initialed here and there, T’s crossed and I’s dotted. Everything was conducted in the most business-like manner, with minimal small talk, which only frustrated Merlin’s attempt at eavesdropping. Finished, Gaius stood, shaking Arthur’s hand once more before leaving. Arthur beamed as he stepped up to the counter, setting down his empty mug.

            “Well, that all seemed very professional.” Merlin took the empty mug but failed to offer to refill it. “I assume you’ll be leaving now? There must be very important business matters to attend to.”

            “Not at all. I’ve cleared my schedule to thoroughly inspect my new investment.”

            “New investment? What, did you just buy an offshore oil rig or puppy mill? Some sweat factory in Indonesia?”

            “No.” Arthur smiled, shaking his head. “I just bought your shop.”

 

            Merlin never considered himself a religious man. His mother had had him baptized, and they’d occasionally attended midnight mass on Christmas, but only because she loved the organ music. Since he’d moved away, Merlin hadn’t seen the inside of a church. To him, the notion of a higher power or an afterlife were more metaphorical than concrete. He found solace in the poetry of scripture, but he wouldn’t call himself a believer. But if ever a hell existed, Merlin had surely been living in it for the past week.

            “Morning, Merlin,” Arthur called with a grin as he stepped into the shop, accompanied  by the soft tinkling of the bell hung overhead. He made his way to his makeshift desk in the corner, plucking a stack of papers out of his attaché case and dropping them on the table. “The usual, if you will.”

            They weren’t even officially open yet—Merlin hadn’t unlocked the door, but Arthur had insisted on having his own key, since _it is_ my _building now_. Thus was Merlin’s life. Arthur arrived early, bringing his laptop and a stack of files, setting up in the corner to work. Throughout the day he sat, sipping his coffee as he looked through papers or tapped out emails. Around noon, a blond, curly-haired man Merlin assumed was Arthur’s assistant would bring him lunch and replace the files with a fresh batch.

            Sometimes he’d leave for an hour or two—business meetings, most likely, at some posh hotel bar—but he never failed to return. Worse were the times Arthur brought the meeting here. Merlin stressed that Arthur’s lifetime supply of coffee did _not_ extend to his business associates, but he still somehow always ended up losing money on the gaggle of men fawning around Arthur, laughing at his attempt at jokes. More often than not,  he didn’t even seem to be working, rather scrolling on his phone, or else watching Merlin cleanup.

            “Do you have to stare like that?” Merlin wiped an arm across his forehead, leaning on the mop. He’d felt the weight of Arthur’s eyes for the better part of the last forty minutes, and he wasn’t sure what disturbed him more: the obtrusiveness of it, or the mild flattery he felt.

            “I wasn’t staring.” Arthur, who most certainly _had_ been, turned round in his chair and busied himself with some papers. “Besides, there’s no law about looking.”

            “There most certainly is!” Merlin huffed as he hurried the mop across the floor, eager to be done and gone. He scrubbed aggressively at a caramel stain. “You know, you could actually _help_ instead of just sit there.”

            Arthur barked out a gruff guffaw and swiveled back around. He looked at Merlin, wide-eyed, with one eyebrow quirked, like he’d just suggested Arthur drink bleach. “Are you daft? Why would I clean up? For that matter, why are _you_ cleaning up?” Arthur waved his hand around the shop. “Don’t you have a service for this type of stuff?”

            “This ‘type of stuff’?” Merlin shook the mop towards Arthur. “You mean housekeeping? No, Arthur, I don’t. Unlike you, I wasn’t born with a silver spoon stuffed up my ass. I have to get my hands dirty sometimes.”

            “Your mouth too, apparently,” Arthur murmured. He swept his eyes over Merlin’s lithe body, long in the drape of his apron, noting the bow tied just above his ass. Arthur turned away, lifting his coffee cup to his lips, draining the dregs. He swallowed the bitter grounds with a gratifying grimace. “Another, when you’ve a moment.” He busies himself with the latest expenditure report, but jumped at the sudden clatter as the mop handle smacked onto the ground.

            “You’re joking, right?” Merlin’s fingers twitched towards Arthur’s throat. It took a monumental force of will to stop himself from wringing his neck. “You watched me clean out the coffee machine an _hour_ ago. Do you really expect me to do it all again because you want one more cup of coffee?”

            “ _Fine_.” Arthur rolled his eyes. “Make two if that’s any better.”

            “That’s it!” Merlin tore at the apron knot, slipping it over and off his head. He balled it into a bundle and tossed it at Arthur’s head. Merlin snatched his phone and keys from off the counter. “I can’t do this. I don’t care how good the location is.”

            Arthur sputtered as he struggled out from under the apron, catching Merlin right as he reached the door. He felt Merlin’s pulse jump when his fingers wrapped around his wrist. “What do you think you’re doing?”

            “Giving my 30 day notice. I’m out of here.”

            Something unpleasant twisted itself into a knot in Arthur’s stomach and his cheeks flushed. “Fine,” Arthur shouted, doing his best to ignore the stabbing pain in his gut. “I’m sure I’ll have no problem finding a new renter, and one with less sass at that!”

            But Merlin had already gone. Arthur shouted at an empty shop.

 

            Arthur put the ad online that very night before bed. He called the office to let them know he once again wouldn’t be coming in. The sun slanted through his floor-to-ceiling windows as he poured himself a cup of coffee. He opened his email to see what sort of offers he’d gotten. He grimaced at the taste and responses both.

            True, the location of Merlin’s shop was prime—nicely situated downtown, on a frequented but not overly busy street. The rent was reasonable if not what one would call “cheap.” Arthur figured he’d have his pick of renters. And he did, but they were all as rotten as three week old oranges. Abysmal credit scores—when they even _had_ one—and business plans that sounded like they’d been penned on napkins. I mean, _honestly_ , who would want to go to a cactus café?

            Near noon Arthur turned off his phone and tossed it across the room, nursing a burgeoning stress headache. He poured himself another water-thin cup of coffee. He’d never admit to being spoiled, but he had become accustomed to certain standards ever since he started frequenting Merlin’s shop. He considered popping round for a cup to go, but then he remembered the exasperated stomp of Merlin’s feet as he’d stormed out the night before. A gross overreaction, no question about it. All he’d done was ask for a simple cup of coffee—the very thing he claimed to sell, mind you! No, Arthur wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of groveling. Besides, he wanted to have a new tenant secured before he showed up. All the better to rub Merlin’s smug face in it.

            Arthur couldn’t work from home. The files he needed were at Merlin’s—a matter of convenience, since it had become his de facto office—so he showered and dressed before heading into the office. As he slid into the back of his Uber, he turned his phone, intending to have Leon order lunch. As he did so, his phone exploded with eighteen text messages and twelve missed calls.

            Arthur scrambled to pull up Leon’s contact info, certain that the building must have burned down or the stock plummeted—nothing else could explain such urgency. It barely rang before he picked up. “Leon? What happened?”

            “Uther’s here.”

            Arthur’s stomach quivered—he was glad he’d skipped breakfast. His palms went clammy and his tie felt suddenly too tight. He did his best to ignore the tremor in his fingers. “ _Shit_. Since when?”

            Leon whispered on the other end of the line; Arthur imagined him huddled in a broom closet. “Late this morning. He’s been hounding after you. Where are you?”

Arthur cupped his hand over the phone as he leaned forward to give the driver a new address. He hunched low in his seat, below the line of the window, as if his father would be on the street corner, waiting for him. “Tell him I’m sick. No. Tell him I’m on holiday.”

            “Arthur, he knows that’s not true.” Leon’s voice dropped even lower. Leon shuffled, and Arthur heard a bump followed by a swear. Arthur swapped hiding in a broom closet with cowering under a desk. Knowing his father, this perhaps wasn’t an exaggeration. “He won’t take no for an answer. What do I tell him?”

            “Tell him I’m inspecting a new property and won’t be coming in today. Tell him anything! Just—you’ll think of something. I have to go.” Arthur switched off his phone as he got out the car, not bothering to look back as the driver sped off. His heart skipped at the familiar jingle as he stepped into Merlin’s shop.

            “Well, Sleeping Beauty, glad someone’s able to waste the day away in bed while—”

            “I need you to hide me.”

Merlin stopped midsentence, rag and cup in hand. He looked at Arthur like he was mad, which, given his frantic, wide-eyed stare and rumpled hair, was a fair assessment. “Hide you? From what?”

            “Just—” Arthur hurried round the counter, ignoring Merlin’s attempts at protests. “You have an office, yes? A back room? Look, I’ll hide in the bathroom if I have to.”

            Merlin grabbed Arthur’s arm to still him, and though firm, the touch was gentle and kind. “Are you in some kind of trouble?” Merlin’s voice softened with worry, eyes narrowed in concern. “Arthur, are you in danger?” Fear blossomed in his eyes. “Goodness, am I?” Merlin darted a glance at the front door, as if expecting an ax murder to waltz in any second.

            “No, just—look, I’m trying to avoid someone and I need a place to lie low for a bit. Just set me up with a chair in the back, you’ll never even know I’m there.” Merlin teetered on the edge of hesitation. Arthur grabbed his shoulders, not roughly, but with a strength surprising for a man who’d spent more time in boardrooms than outside. “Please.”

            “Alright.” Merlin unlocked the door to his office, a cramped room barely large enough for a desk and some shelves bulging with boxes of coffee beans and a single, overflowing file cabinet. “The Wi-Fi’s a bit spotty back here, but at least the A/C works.”

            “Thanks.” Arthur pulled out the chair, lifting his leg over a stack of disposable cups to sit down. “And Merlin?” Merlin stopped in the doorway, looking back. Arthur tried for casual. “If anyone shows up looking for me…”

            Merlin offered an encouraging smile, halfway out the door. “Arthur who?”

            Merlin hadn’t lied about the Wi-Fi, which was both a blessing and a curse. Since he couldn’t check his emails, Arthur had plausible deniability as to why he didn’t respond to what he assumed were the hundreds of attempts by his father to ascertain his whereabouts. There was little he could do with the financial reports without internet, and he’d quickly tired of Candy Crush. He threw his head back, slumping against the chair, tapping his fingers against the desk.

            When his butt went numb he stood and started pacing. Not that there was really any space to pace. It was more like turning in place. Eventfully he got dizzy, so he sat back down. His knee caught on a desk drawer left ajar. For lack of nothing better to do, he pulled it open, leafing through the papers inside.

            Receipts mostly, some tax returns or old promotions. Merlin had done surprisingly well for himself. He went through the other drawers, rifling through invoices, little notes with accompanying drawings from someone with the initial G. He found a broken frame and a photograph of Merlin hugging an older woman. A cottage squatted in the background before a vast expanse of rolling, green hills. Their faces took up most of the frame. Merlin beamed, all cheek and toothy grin.

            Arthur stared at the picture, his thumb ghosting over Merlin’s face. Without knowing why, he took his phone from his pocket, switching it on. He put the picture down on the desk, standing to hover over it. He snapped a picture with his phone before slipping the photo back into the drawer. Arthur heard the front door open with a jingle, followed by Merlin’s faint greeting. His pocket vibrated as a belated text from Leon came through.

 _I’m sorry, he dragged it out of me_.

            Arthur’s stomach dropped down around his ankles and his blood ran cold. He rushed to the door, pressing his ear to it. He couldn’t make out the words, but he recognized the strained, frantic tone in Merlin’s voice—his father brought it out in everyone. He creaked the door open an inch to listen to Merlin’s hurried excuses.

            “—really can’t help you, now unless you’d like to order something—”

            “I know my son is here.” A shiver ran up Arthur’s spine at the sound of his father’s voice. “Tell me where, now. Or I’ll be forced to involve the authorities.”

            “The authorities?” Merlin sputtered, “look, I didn’t kidnap Arthur—”

            “So you _do_ know my son?”

            Arthur strained to hear more, but Merlin seemed at a loss for words. He imagined the hardened disapproval etched onto his father’s face.

            “I—look, I don’t—he’s not—”

            Uther sighed. “Very well. You leave me little choice.”

            Arthur buzzed with trepidation. He teetered on the other side of the door, bottom lip worried between his teeth. He heard Merlin pleading faintly, but his father seemed to ignore him. His stomach knotted into a ball of anxiety, he forced it down as he opened the door and strode out into the shop.

            “Father.” Arthur squared his shoulders to suppress the tremor in his voice. He clapped a hand on Merlin’s shoulder and affected his most confident smile. “I see you’ve met Merlin. He was the inspiration behind my most recent venture.”

            Uther’s gaze crawled over Merlin and Arthur felt him shudder. “I thought I would not have to remind you, but we run a business, not a charity.” Uther slipped his phone back into his suit pocket as he turned to take in the shop. “Really, Arthur. This isn’t how I taught you to handle your money.”

            “Exactly— _my_ money. This was a personal investment. No Pendragon Inc. funds were used.” Arthur tightened his grip on Merlin’s shoulder, for his or Merlin’s support he could not say. “Merlin is an excellent businessman, and has managed to turn a profit the past three years.”

            “I would hardly call the spare change this establishment must earn _profits_. And from what I’ve heard you haven’t been into the office all week. Your hobby—”

            “This is _not—_ ” Arthur began, but Uther raised his voice to speak over him.

            “—your hobby should not distract you from your job. I entrusted you with my legacy. Don’t make me regret that decision.”

            Arthur smoldered, jaw clenched. His teeth ground together loud enough for Merlin to hear. Uther’s phone rang; he checked the screen, not bothering to lift his head when he spoke.

            “I expect you to be at the office tomorrow. On time. Whatever this,” he gestured to Merlin, then waved his hand round the shop, “is, it comes second to your work. You’ll do to remember that.” He turned, lifting the phone to his ear, and left without a goodbye.

            Arthur let his hand slip from Merlin’s shoulder, deflated and defeated. Had a hole opened up beneath him, he’d have been grateful. He wanted equally to cry and break something He slinked back into the office, ignoring Merlin’s gentle condolences, shutting the door on the world.

 

            Merlin was bereft of ideas. Arthur hadn’t been by the shop in over a week, and his phone calls had gone unanswered, his texts ignored. The best he’d managed was when he’d sunk to calling his office and gotte Leon, his assistant, on the line.

            “Mr. Pendragon is very busy,” he’d explained, “but I can pass along a message if you’d like.”

            “Is he alright?” Merlin had hoped to keep the tremor of worry out of his voice. “I mean truthfully. When his father—”

            “I’m sorry,” Leon had said, and he’d sounded it, “but I can’t discuss Ar—Mr. Pendragon’s personal affairs. I’ll let him know you called.”

            Merlin had stopped short of actually going to his office. It hadn’t been hard to find, nothing a simple Google search couldn’t turn up, though he still didn’t know what Pendragon Inc. did. Or rather, what they didn’t do. It seemed they had holdings in nearly every sector—R&D, pharmaceuticals, shipping and manufacturing. Merlin choked on his wine when he saw Arthur’s estimated net worth. He wasn’t just wealthy, he was _this is my_ other _private island_ wealthy. True, Merlin had assumed Arthur was well-off when he’d learned he bought $800 shoes, but he’d never have guessed he was _this_ well-off. The pair he’d ruined must have been Arthur’s dress _down_ loafers, but he didn’t flash his wealth, not in the way thin-haired, spray tanned moguls did.

            He’d stayed up half the night, working his way through a bottle of wine, reading every article about Arthur he could get his hands on. Most were business dealings, mergers and buy-outs, but there were more than a few fluff pieces about his charity work. Arthur playing soccer to raise funds for an orphanage. Arthur donating blood to support AIDS research. Arthur, all charm and smiles, handing an oversized check to a group gathered in front of a women’s shelter. He dug deeper the more he drank. Fresh-faced, barely eighteen Arthur, muddy jersey plastered to his chest, sweat-slick hair stuck to his forehead, holding aloft a rugby trophy from his days at university. In an article about his father he learned how his mother had died in a car crash while Arthur been only a child.

            Merlin knew all too well the pain of an absent parent. But whereas he’d grown up under the gentle shelter of his mother’s love, Merlin could not fathom a life lived with no one but Uther for support. It explained a lot, when he thought about it, which he did as little of as possible, since the second he allowed his mind to linger on Arthur his thoughts drifted from sympathetic to scandalous. His dreams began to prominently feature an older, broader chested Arthur stripping off his rugby jersey, clutching not a trophy, but Merlin. He awoke, more than once, with a hangover and a hard on.

            The late night research sessions began to wear on him, if the dark circles weighing down his eyes were any indication. He suppressed a yawn as he poured Gwaine’s coffee. He’d stopped coming in in the mornings on his run, a fact Merlin thought he should regret more than he did. Instead, he’d taken to dropping by around lunch, often when Arthur was busy on a business call of some sort. When Arthur still worked from the shop, that is.

            “Where’s your roommate got off to?” Gwaine sipped at his coffee, and Merlin tried to ignore his grimace. He’d burnt the beans—again—when he’d nodded off in the back. “I haven’t seen him around in a few days. Trouble in paradise?”

            Merlin fumbled and sent a cascade of sugar across the countertop. He swore as he scooped it into a cupped palm. “I don’t—no, he just—he has a lot of work, is all. Besides we’re not…he’s my landlord.”

            “Right, right.” Gwaine nodded, starting to take a sip and thinking better of it. He set the cup aside and fixed Merlin with a grin. “So does this mean you’ll be at my party this weekend?”

            “Your…this weekend?” Merlin had completely forgotten about Gwaine’s Halloween party. He’d thought about little else besides Arthur these past few days, which should have disturbed him more than it did. He’d barely noticed the days growing shorter, permanently glued to his computer as he was. The other day he’d nearly tripped over a pumpkin on his way in to work, and it took him a full minute to realize it was part of someone’s fall decorations. He hadn’t even changed up the seasonal menu until a customer reminded him to. “Listen, Gwaine…”

            “Great!” Gwaine grinned, waving off Merlin’s excuse before he could finish. “Stop by any time after 8pm. Wear something cute,” he added, with a wink.

            Merlin spent the day drawing up hallow reasons why he couldn’t attend—too much work, stomach flu, a recent conversion to a sect that didn’t recognize Halloween—but they all rang false. It’s not that Merlin didn’t want to go; he enjoyed a party as much as any respectable 30-something. But the idea of running into Arthur—or worse, not—terrified him. Would he blame Merlin for his father’s reaction? Did he think buying his shop was a terrible investment he should divest himself of post-haste? Merlin doubted it—he’d been surprisingly spot-on in his financial analysis. A strange bird of pride fluttered in his heart when he thought of Arthur admiring his business acumen, even if he’d never admit it aloud to anyone but his father. True, he could have said all that to assuage his father’s ire, but somehow Merlin didn’t believe that. Arthur knew good business when he saw it, and Merlin might not make the Fortune 500 list anytime soon, but he ran a tight ship, as the profits showed.

            That didn’t change the fact that Merlin hadn’t seen hair nor hide of Arthur since he’d packed his things up, leaving without so much as a goodbye. The shop had echoed, eerily silent, without his familiar banter to fill it. True, most of it had been insults aimed at Merlin, but to his credit Arthur could take it just as well as he could dish it out. More than once they’d laughed themselves silly, most often at one of Merlin’s more inspired inventions. Dollaphead, after Arthur’s continued instance for an extra helping of foamed cream on his lattes, had been a personal favorite of theirs. Now the office sat empty, the storefront devoid of Arthur’s particular brand of sunshine.

            He refused to call it a crush. He wasn’t a school girl, enamored with the first boy to pull her pigtails. Though, if he were being honest, Merlin could think of a few things he wouldn’t mind Arthur pulling. When he bookmarked a photoshoot Arthur had done last year to promote Pendragon Inc.’s new fashion line, he knew his goose was cooked.

            “You’re moping.” Gwen nibbled on a piece of toast in Merlin’s kitchen. She dazzled in an emerald dress feathered in sequins. Her dark hair lay plastered to her forehead beneath a retro flapper hat. Every movement caught the light and dashed it across her chest like scattered stars, her matching earing twinkling. “Do you really want to spend another night drinking wine feeling sorry for yourself?”

            Merlin, dressed in PJ’s, looked up from the glass he’d just poured. “…yes?”

            “Merlin, it’s _Halloween_. You have to go out.”

            “You know, I’ve been thinking, and isn’t it really just another pagan holiday passed off to secular society to make us overspend and indulge? Besides, should we really condone a celebration that promote binge drinking, since one in three—”

            “Merlin.” Gwen rested a hand on his, face hardened with concern. “You need to get out. Look, I know you’re…upset, about Arthur.”

            “I’m not—”

            “But you need to move on. Or win him back. Or write him an angry letter. Whatever will make you feel better. But you can’t just shut the world out.” She squeezed his arm. “Please don’t shut me out.”

            He’d never been able to say no to her, not when she gave him _that_ look, not since they were children. Merlin sighed in defeat. Gwen proceeded to march him to his bedroom, where she forced armloads of outfits on him.

            “You’d be amazed what a good ensemble can do for your mood,” she said as she felt up a button down against his back. Merlin rag-dolled as Gwen dressed and undressed him, his floor steadily disappearing beneath a growing mountain of discarded shirts and rejected jeans. She pulled up a listicle of last minute Halloween costume ideas, scrounging around the house for materials. Had Gwen not poured him a drink between each outfit change, Merlin would have quickly run out of patience. As it were, he had a nice buzz and an immodest amount of skin showing. Gwen stepped back, smoothing a wrinkle in the bedsheet taunt over his chest. “There. Now tell me you don’t feel better.”

            Merlin turned to study his reflection in his bedroom mirror. It might have been the alcohol—in fact, it most certainly was, at least partly—but Merlin had to admit he looked good, if not more than a little ridiculous. The bedsheet barely came down to mid-tight, and swooped low across his belly and chest, leaving a nipple and a hunk of hip exposed. Gwen beamed in the background, swirling her drink.

            They shared a taxi to Gwaine’s, since Lance had taken the car to pick up a gym buddy. Merlin fidgeted in his seat, tugging down his make-shift toga. His liquid courage, while not completely depleted, had drained a bit away. As the streetlights whirled past, casting quick flashes of yellowed light, a creeping nervousness overtook him. He fiddled with the knot over his shoulder.

            “Stop that.” Gwen batted his hands away. “You’ll mess up your outfit.”

            Merlin’s breath puffed white in front of his face as Gwen buzzed them in. His legs broke out in goose pimples as he shivered, wishing he’d thought to bring a pair of pants. When the door opened, they ascended the posh staircase, clutching the alabaster handrail. Gwaine stood in the entrance of his apartment, drink in hand. He was dressed as a musketeer, complete with a sword dangling on his hip, and a flouncy, feather-topped hat on his head. He beamed when he saw them.

            “Merlin! So glad you could make it.” He pulled Merlin into a one armed hug, his hand low on his back. “You look stunning.” He turned to Gwen, his eyes roaming over her, head to toe. “And who is this divine creature accompanying you this evening. Should I be jealous?”

            “Yes,” Gwen kissed Gwaine’s cheek as she let him take her hand, “but not of him. My boyfriend should be here any minute.”

            A pocket of noise burst around them as they stepped through the doorway, divesting themselves of scarves and coats. Top hits blaring from the speakers competed with bubbles of conversation. Merlin scanned the room while Gwaine went to get him a drink. Nurses chatted with werewolves, cheerleaders leaned on the shoulders of astronauts. To call the crowd eclectic would be an understatement.

            He knew Gwaine had a wide social circle, but this was practically a rhombus—even through their costumes, Merlin could tell the party was made of up more than just Gwaine’s business associates. Men twice Merlin’s age chatted with punks decked out in piercings with mile-high Mohawks. Women dressed as queens gathered around men in gladiator get-ups, showing off abs you could eat off of. Merlin started when he felt a hand on his shoulder, but it was only Gwaine with his beer. Merlin took it with a breathless thanks and downed half immediately.

            “Well, someone’s feeling festive.” Gwaine clapped a hand on Merlin’s back and let it linger. “How’s the shop?”

            “The what?” Merlin turned back to look at Gwaine. He’d seen a blond head ducking into the kitchen and he’d made as if to follow. “Oh, the shop. It’s good. Yeah, good.”

            “That’s great. Listen, I wanted to talk to you about—”

            “Is Arthur here?” Merlin asked in a single breath, more _IsArthurhere_ , his tongue whiskey loose and sloppy.

            “Arthur? Arthur Pendragon?” Gwaine craned his neck to check. “No. Why, are you expecting him?”

            “You invited him.” Merlin’s stomach did strange somersaults at the memory. “Remember? At the shop the other day?”

            Gwaine took a sip of his drink and nodded his head. “That’s right!” He laughed a little to himself and swiped his tongue across his lips. “I’d completely forgotten. I mean, I never figured he’d show up, big name like his.”

            “Right, right, I figured.” Merlin smiled at the bottom of his glass, heart clenched like a fist. “Just wondering.”

            The intercom buzzed and Gwaine went to open the door for Lance and some bloke named Percy. The pair was dressed as pirates, Lance with an admirable ruffled shirt, Percy in black, leather boots. He towered over the rest of the crowd, all mass and muscle. Every eye turned towards him appreciatively. Gwaine practically drooled when he helped him out of his coat.

            With Gwaine distracted, Merlin circulated, making frequent pit spots in the kitchen to freshen up his drink. The party dimmed to a pleasant buzz, a soft haze crowning his vision. Gwen dangled off of Lance’s arm while Gwaine laughed at one of Percy’s jokes. Merlin squeezed between two Jon Snows in a heated debate verging on blows or kisses. He nestled in a corner to nurse his drink. The hours ticked away as he got smashed, smiling at Gwen whenever she passed to ask if he was alright. He focused his vision on his watch to see it was thirty minutes to midnight. He figured if he hurried he could be in bed before November.

            Merlin polished off his drink, setting it down on the first flat surface he could find, before he stumbled off to the closet to retrieve his coat. The buzz of the intercom rang shrill in the relative quiet of the foyer. Merlin stood on his tiptoes to look for Gwaine, but he was deeply engrossed in the flex of Percy’s muscles. The buzzer rang again, and Merlin picked the phone off its cradle.

            “Hello?” Merlin slurred into the mouthpiece.

            “Uh, It’s Arthur.”

 

            Arthur had planned to spend Halloween much as he’d spent the last week—alone, at home, severely depressed and moderately drunk. He came to work that morning dressed in the same wrinkled suit he’d worn the day before. And the day before that. He scratched at three-day scruff as Leon briefed him on the day’s agenda, which, surprise surprise, was as void and unexciting as it had been all week.

            “Your father will be handling most of the meetings today. There are some reports you could look over…”

            “Which, let me guess, my father has already seen?”

            “…yes.”

            “And given his approval to?”

            “…yes.”

            “So then what, pray tell, would be the point of me looking at them?” Leon shuffled his feet and his papers, busying himself with straightening a paperclip. Arthur dipped his face into his palms, rubbing at the bags beneath his eyes. “Just leave them on my desk.”

            Arthur spent the morning checking Facebook, playing Angry Birds, and longing for a decent cup of coffee. A caffeine headache pushed at the back of his forehead; he’d only been able to finish half a cup this morning before he’d poured the rest down the drain. It’d tasted more like mud than brew. He leaned back in his desk chair, swiveling in languid circles as he stared up at the ceiling.

            His father had forbidden him from working from the shop, or home for that matter. Though he’d convinced him of the financial benefits of his investment, Uther wouldn’t excuse his shirking off work to sip java all day. He hadn’t so much as said goodbye to Merlin when he’d packed up his things. He hadn’t been back in days.

            It’s not that he missed Merlin. He reminded himself that he was an insolent, too-big-for-his-britches smart mouth, whom he could barely stand. And yet Arthur missed their banter, missed the wordless tunes Merlin would hum while cleaning, his effortless smile and cheer whenever a customer walked in. Not to mention the lean lines of his body, stretched across the counter, or the curve of his bum as he bent down. Arthur had woken up more than once with an embarrassing wet spot on his sheets and visions of Merlin fresh in his mind. Most nights he stared unblinkingly at the television, innocuous sitcoms forming background noise as he downed a six pack of beer, doing his best to forget his sorrows, but always Merlin returned to him in his dreams.

            “You act like you just got dumped.” Morgana had said, sitting on the edge of his desk while she filed her nails. “I thought you said there was nothing between you two.” And there hadn’t been, not truly, but then why did Arthur’s chest ache when he smelled freshly roasted coffee beans? “Look, whatever you need to do to get over him, do it. You’re bumming out the whole office.”

            Which perhaps explained why his employees had been avoiding him like the plague. Even Leon had been reticent to spend any prolonged period of time in his company, as if his ennui was catching. Not that he could blame them. He’d been surlier than usual, glum, and he might have lapsed in his hygiene routine a bit. But what was the point of trying when there was no one to impress anymore?

            He begged off the Halloween office party, claiming he had other plans, not that anyone asked. Truth be told, everyone seemed relieved Arthur sparred them an evening of drunken gloom. While the rest of the office went home early to change or grab drinks, Arthur stared blank-eyed at his computer screen, debating between ordering Chinese or pizza. While he was more in the mood for pizza, the delivery man had recognized him last time, and he wasn’t sure he could go through such mortification again. Finally, he decided to scrounge for leftovers at home and save himself the trouble of human interaction. As he stood to feed his arms through the sleeves of his coat, something fell out of his pocket onto the floor. He stooped to pick up the business card, turning it over.

 

**_Gwaine Livershire, esq._ **

**_Finance Analytics_ **

            On the back a phone number had been hastily scrawled along with a date. Arthur had completely forgotten about the invitation, celebration far from his mind. A sudden thought thrilled through him. Hadn’t Merlin been invited as well? His pulse raced with possibility.

            He checked the directions in the Uber home. He shed his clothes, leaving a trail to the bathroom, where he shaved and scrubbed the three-day grime off himself. Hair slicked back, towel slung low on his hips, he tore through his closet looking for something to where. Everything seemed overly stuffy, better fit for a boardroom than a Halloween party. He’d gone so far as to call Morgana for help, who, after lording it over him for a solid ten minutes, finally advised jeans with a sleek top.

            “Never underestimate the elegance of simplicity, little brother.”

            She reminded him of the haunted house they’d organized to raise money for an inner-city school. A box of supplies sat hidden in the back of his closet. He rummaged through it, searching for inspiration, when he stumbled upon a pair of adhesive vampire fangs. He fit them over his canines, running his tongue over them to make sure they were snug and secure.

            Giving himself a once over in the mirror, he had to admit Morgana was right. He looked _good_. Not to mention he felt like a new man; amazing what some basic hygiene could do for your state of mind. He bared his teeth in a ghoulish grin—the fake teeth caught the light. He did his best to affect a sexy smirk. Was Merlin into vampire? He surely hoped so.

            He teetered on the edge of hesitation, oscillating between nervous excitement and nail-biting terror. What if Merlin was there? What if he wasn’t? Arthur mixed a drink to steady his nerves, then another.

            Arthur rubbed his hands against the cold as he waited for Gwaine to buzz him in. All through the ride over he debated whether this was all foolish dreaming. Halfway there he’d told the driver to turn around, only to change his mind after two blocks. He would have stayed on the stoop all night if he wasn’t worried about hypothermia.

            At last he mustered up the courage to ring the buzzer. When he heard Merlin’s voice on the other end he nearly fainted. He wanted to say something, anything, but Merlin buzzed him in before he could speak. He rushed up the stairs, heart racing. He heard the revelry pouring into the hallway from the open door, Gwaine haloed by light, gaze gone whiskey soft.

            “Arthur.” Gwaine slapped a hand on his shoulder, the other busy keeping hold of a drink. “What a pleasant surprise. I didn’t think you’d make it.”

            “Well, yes.” Arthur shrugged off his coat, draped it over the pile of others precariously perched on the oversaturated rack. “Neither did I. Tell me, is—”

            “Let me get you a drink.”

            Arthur watched Gwaine disappear into the kitchen. He hovered in the foyer, reluctant to plunge into the crowd. He recognized scant faces from business meeting, but none he wanted to engage with. He rocked on the balls of his feet, hands stuffed deep in his pockets. A literal giant laughed at a beautiful woman’s joke, the sequins of her dress toying with the light. A pirate with his hair tied back in a bun brought her a drink and kissed her cheek. A blur of movement snagged the corner of Arthur’s eye. A mop of raven hair dashed into the bathroom. Arthur made to follow, but Gwaine intercepted him, forcing a drink into his hand.

            “Here we go. Let me know if it’s too strong.”

            Arthur sipped and his face scrunched up as his lips pursed into a sour snarl. Arthur couldn’t tell if Gwaine had mixed the orange juice with vodka or rubbing alcohol. Gwaine started in on office politics, and Arthur nodded along, barely registering who was sleeping with whom, names little more than noise. His eyes scanned the crowd, looking for the head of black hair he’d spied earlier. The bathroom door remained shut.

            “Excuse me,” Arthur interrupted, mouth still burning with a swig of his drink, “but is Merlin here?” Arthur’s stomach twisted, but he barreled head long, mind too softened by drink to worry. “It’s just, well, he mentioned he might be here and I wanted to…discuss some matters pertaining to…the shop. As his landlord. Is, is he here?” Arthur’s tongue flopped lazily in his suddenly too-wide mouth.

            Something in Gwaine’s eyes twinkled, a sly grin tugging at his lips as he took a leisurely sip from his glass. “Funny, he asked about you too.” Gwaine turned to search the crowd, a small grace, since Arthur could feel his face burn red. “He was here a second ago. Must be in the bathroom.”

            “Which is where, speaking of?” Arthur downed his glass, handing it to Gwaine. “Small bladder.”

            Arthur wound his way through the crowd, shoulders brushing up against ghosts and Grey Wardens as he excused himself. He stood planted before the bathroom door. True, someone other than Merlin might be in there. Or perhaps no one. And barging into a possibly occupied bathroom was far from his best idea. But the flicker of a chance danced in his mind that maybe, just maybe, Merlin was on the other side of this door. His blood slushed with liquor and the buzzing anticipation of the night, full of possibilities, gave him the foolish courage to grab the handle and open the door.

 

            Merlin’s first instinct had been to hide. His hand shook as he’d pushed the button to buzz Arthur in, the motion hurried. He spun about, searching the sea of faces in desperation. He caught Gwaine mid-laugh, in conversation with some blonde. Merlin grabbed his arm and pulled him aside.

            “Door. Guest. For you.” Merlin pointed over his shoulder, painfully aware of his tremors.

            “Thanks. You alright mate?” Gwaine steadied Merlin with a hand on his arm. But then Percy came up with two beers, and Merlin managed to slip away from while Gwaine admired his biceps. He looked for Gwen, but couldn’t find her. Lance either.

 _Get a grip_ , he told himself. _You’ve seen Arthur loads of times_. _Why is this any different_? Merlin heard the front door open and Gwaine call a greeting into the hallway.

            He panicked. He weaved through the crowd, spilling more than a few drinks, latching onto the bathroom door handle like a lifeline. He scrambled inside, forgetting to turn the lock. He leaned his back against the wood, heart pounding.

            He drew breath in through flared nostrils, moving to the sink. He cupped his hands, splashing cold water onto his face. His mouth tingled with the after burn of liquor.

            “What’s wrong with you?” His voice sounded loud despite the muffle of the music bleeding through the door. He sighed as he undid his zipper, slipping his cock out to piss. His head lolled back as he sighed, half in frustration, half in relief. What was he to do? It’s not like he could spend the rest of the evening holed up in here—Gwaine only had two bathrooms, and someone would come knocking eventually. Perhaps, if he texted Gwen to distract Arthur, he could slip out and away without him noticing. But knowing Gwen, she was just as likely to point Merlin out as she was to help him escape unnoticed.

            Merlin flushed and tucked himself back into his pants. He lathered his hands in the sink, drying them off on a towel. He leaned back against the counter, face hidden in his palms. He smelled the artificial scent flowers from the soap he’d used as he massaged his temples.

            And then Arthur burst into the room.

            He burst like an explosion, sudden, appearing all at once, too fast for consciousness to follow, accompanied by a roar of sound as the music swelled to deafening levels. Arthur hurried inside, closing the door, and the old, muffled quiet descended once more upon them.

            They stood staring at the other in their bubble of silence. There was a faint brushing of color flushing Arthur’s cheeks. His lips glistened in the light. The tail of his shirt had come ever so undone.

            The depth of Merlin’s affection was staggering.

            “I, um, I…I didn’t know this was occupied.” Arthur pointed weakly towards the toilet, but let his hand drop feebly by his side. “I, I didn’t…”

            “No, it’s, it’s alright, I was just—”

            “You don’t have to—” Arthur stepped in front of Merlin.

            “Really, I just—” Merlin shimmied past Arthur, but he caught his arm. His hand felt warm and strong, even through the fabric of his shirt. All his excuses came up short, caught in his throat. He swallowed worry, tasted fear. “Arthur.”

            “I…how’s the shop?” Arthur didn’t let go. His thumb rubbed the muscle of Merlin’s arm. A shiver ran down the length of his spine, straight to his dick.

            “The shop?” Merlin let out a weak laugh. He felt the heat of Arthur’s body, smelled the stale whiskey on his breath, heavy with a subtle smell of cologne. His eyes swam wet, an ocean at storm. Merlin felt like drowning. “Who cares about the bloody shop?”

            He tipped forward, like he was falling, an inch of autonomy before gravity took over. He crashed into Arthur’s orbit, smashed their mouths together as his hands wrapped themselves up in the back of his shirt, clinging, desperate, for dear life. The blood pounded in Merlin’s ears, face flushed as his lips moved against Arthur’s. He tasted the hint of lime he’d mixed in his drinks, smelled his aftershave, nostrils full of the scent of his shampoo. Arthur wound an arm around his waist, pulled him in close, a hand pressed to his lower back. Merlin melted into his embrace.

            Their mouths worked at each other, tongues swiping and tussling, teeth nipping and scraping. They bumped into the counter, the wall, nearly toppling over the toilet into the shower. They broke apart laughing, lips plump with kissing. Arthur nuzzled his forehead against Merlin’s, cheeks tinged pink.

            “Why didn’t you do that sooner?” His nose nudged Merlin’s. He dipped down to kiss his jaw. He snatched the lope of his ear between his teeth.

            “Because,” Merlin gasped a half-giggle as Arthur sucked a ripe plum onto the side of his neck, “someone was a right _ass_ from the moment I saw him.”

            “Yes, well, you did ruin my shoes.” Arthur ran his hands up Merlin’s sides, pulling their hips together. Merlin’s knees shuddered as their cocks rubbed together, the denim of Arthur’s jeans rough through the thin bedsheet draped across Merlin’s lap.

            “Hmm, well, call it preemptive karma.” Merlin grabbed Arthur’s ass, fingers gripping the bubble of his butt as he kissed him sloppy and wet. Arthur hoisted Merlin onto the counter, slotted between the spread of his legs. Merlin’s knees drifted apart, the toga pulled aside. His cock sprang free, swollen and red, the head glistening. “I, uh, forgot underwear.”

            “Happy mistake.” Arthur grinned wolfishly as he fisted a hand around Merlin’s cock. Merlin arched, head thrown back against the mirror, and groaned. His fingers bit into the countertop, the veins of his arms stark against the white of his skin. He bucked into Arthur’s touch. His teeth bit hard into his bottom lip to stop from calling out.

            “ _Fuck_ , Arthur we can’t—”

            Arthur kissed him, swallowing his protests, sucking his tongue into his mouth. He tugged at his toga, Merlin lifting off the counter as Arthur pulled it off of his body. His cock bobbed, the head dripping a pooled pearl of precum. Arthur rubbed at him, hand on Merlin’s hip to steady him as he worked a steady rhythm up and down, up and down. Merlin wound his fingers through Arthur’s hair, tight at the root, and screwed his eye shut. His head lolled against the mirror, neck exposed. His throat shone white in the light; Arthur sucked red kisses from his jaw to his collarbone.

            Merlin’s skin goose-pimpled when Arthur slipped a hand beneath the swell of his balls, kneading them. His fingers slithered up to grab his cock. He wrapped a hand around him, pulling and gripping, thumb swiping at the head, slit dripping. Merlin rolled his hips into the touch, bit down hard on the meat of Arthur’s shoulder to keep himself from crying out, thankful for the music. Arthur’s grip went tacky, sticky precum clinging to his fingers as he tugged at Merlin. White heat coiled in Merlin’s belly as his balls pulled tight against his body. His vision went blurry, eyes unfocused as Arthur squeezed the base. Merlin’s mouth hung open, dumb and wanting.

            Then the door flew open with a startled shriek.

            “Oh. Oh Jesus, sorry, I’m—I’m so sorry!” The startled blonde blushed scarlet, manicured hand thrown over her eyes as she stumbled out of the bathroom. “I thought it was unoccupied, I—oh geez, _sorry_!” She swung the door shut.

            Arthur lunged to click the lock. Merlin stared at Arthur; Arthur stared at Merlin. Their breath came heavy, the rise and fall of Arthur’s chest punctuated by Merlin’s raspy gasps. Their hair, love-tussled, fell across flushed faces, lips swollen and wet. Tension hung balanced between them, thin as crystal.

            They burst into laughter, shoulders bobbing as their giggles bubbled up out of their bodies. Arthur leaned against the counter, hand muffling his mouth, as Merlin clutched at his sides till tears pricked in the corner of his eyes. They laughed until they were out of breath, until their bodies shook with breathless joy. Merlin wiped at his eyes as he hopped off the counter.

            “Don’t you have like, a penthouse? With doors that lock?” He wound a hand suggestively up Arthur’s side.

            Arthur stepped into his space, arranging the toga over his shoulder, lingering over the swell of Merlin’s ass with a squeeze. “Some even have _two_.”

            They stumbled out of the bathroom, forcing their way through the crowd. They made their goodbyes—Merlin to Gwen, Arthur to Gwaine—before slipping on their coats and out the door. Their fingers wound together as they bounded down the stairs, Arthur already calling them a car. They kissed in the backseat, all the way to Arthur’s.

            When the car dropped them off, taillights fading into the night, Merlin was sure the driver had made a mistake and dropped them off in the wrong part of town. Not that Arthur lived in a slum, but his neighborhood seemed so…normal. True, the apartments were nice and new, and probably far out of Merlin’s budget, but he’d expected steel sky rises stuffed with luxury apartments. But as Arthur led Merlin up the stairs, he was overwhelmed by the sheer underwhelming-ness of the interior. Merlin stood on his tiptoes to peer over Arthur’s head as he unlocked the door.

            Though spacious, and—Merlin had to admit—tastefully decorated, Arthur’s apartment lacked the gold-plated counters and diamond-encrusted knobs he’d expected. Arthur toed off his shoes and hung up their coats while Merlin wandered through the rooms, fingers tracing the line of his coffee table. Arthur hurried after him, scooping up old coffee cups and dirty dishes.

            “I, uh, I meant to get to these before, but…”

            “It can be so hard to find good help these days.” Arthur nodded before he realized, and had Merlin not ducked in to kiss him he might have tossed a mug at his head. “I don’t care about dirty dishes. There are more than a few at my place.” Merlin pried the plates from Arthur’s fingers, setting them back down on the table.

            Arthur guided them slowly to his bedroom, crashing intermittingly into the walls as they kissed, hands working furiously at buttons, Arthur’s shirt stripped off and forgotten in the hallway. Merlin’s breath was cut short at the sight of Arthur’s chest, the broad strength of it punctuated by two, pink nipples. Merlin kissed a line down his jaw and throat to suck a pert bud into his mouth. It pebbled beneath the ministrations of his tongue. Arthur fisted a handful of Merlin’s hair as he gasped and groaned, wild at the delicious scrape of Merlin’s teeth against the sensitive aureole. Arthur pulled him up, licked into his mouth, sucked his bottom lip between his teeth. He drank kisses from his lips till he was drunk with him.

            They tumbled back onto the bed, rolling over and under the other, kissing and licking and sucking and biting. Arthur tugged at Merlin’s toga while Merlin sucked cherry red kisses at the base of Arthur’s neck.

            “I can’t—get—stupid knot—” Arthur huffed against the side of Merlin’s face. Merlin laughed, kissed him, batted his hands away to tug loose the knot of his toga before helping Arthur with his pants.

            “What, can’t dress yourself either?” Merlin nibbled on Arthur’s collarbone as he shoved his jeans off his hips. They rolled onto their backs, legs kicking in the air, the heavy ruffle almost loud enough to smother their frantic breathing. When Arthur rolled atop him, Merlin gasped at the friction of their cocks. He shuddered as Arthur ground down into him, hips rolling slow and smooth as honey. He threw his neck back, and Arthur sucked a kiss below the shell of his ear.

            “Seem to be doing _this_ ,” Arthur rolled between the sharp v of Merlin’s thighs, “just fine on my own.” He sucked Merlin’s lip between his teeth, tasted the faded memory of his tonic, biting down on the plump swell.

            “You’re an _ass_.” Merlin gasped as Arthur took a nipple into his mouth, tongue lavishing the pert bud, teeth scraping sensitive flesh.

            “What’s that about my ass, Merlin?” Arthur licked up his sides to nibble on an ear. Merlin’s words melted into babble as Arthur toyed with the lobe between his teeth.

            “Just because you— _oh_ , fuck—have a great one, doesn’t mean you have to— _shit,_ Arthur—be one!”

            Arthur hovered his face over Merlin’s. In the dim light, his eyes blown out, his gaze peered from darkness, pierced by a radiant hint of blue. His lips, plumped from kisses, shone with a wet shine. He kissed his nose. “If you’re so obsessed with my ass, Merlin—” Arthur propped himself on one elbow as his thumb hooked in the waistband of his underwear. In one swoop he pulled them off, cock slapping against his stomach. Merlin had little time to admire as Arthur swung his thigh around, coming to sit on Merlin’s face. “—then why don’t you get a little better acquainted with it?”

            The enormity of Arthur’s ass smothered Merlin’s face. Blood surged to Merlin’s dick as the meaty globes of Arthur’s butt covered his face, his hole pressed to Merlin’s mouth. His tongue wagged out, dragging across the sensitive circle of muscle. Arthur adjusted, widening his thighs to sink deeper onto his face, arm braced against the wall behind him. Merlin tongued his hole, jaw moving through the delicious ache of Arthur’s weight atop him.

            “If I’d known it was this easy to shut you up, I’d have sat on your face ages ago.” Arthur reached down to spread his cheeks apart with a smug chuckle

            Merlin could only muffle his response, fingers gripping Arthur’s thighs. He bit the meat of a cheek, but Arthur’s gasp was more pleasured than pained. Merlin spread him wide, forcing his tongue in deeper, teeth scraping against flushed skin. Arthur’s moans came in a breathless litany, head thrown back, cheeks pink, mouth open. He rocked gently against Merlin’s mouth, swearing filthy swears under his breath. “ _Fuck_ , Merlin, why are you wasting your time making coffee?” Arthur tipped forward, hand braced on Merlin’s thigh as he rolled back, another hot swipe of tongue against his blossoming bud. His tongue dipped in and out, in and out, pushing back the ring of resistance till his jaw ached.

            Merlin gasped raspy breaths in through his mouth between licks. He burrowed his face into Arthur’s ass, chin and cheeks smeared wet with his own spit. Arthur’s cock slapped against his throat; he felt the tip leaking onto his collarbone. He ran his tongue over the seam of his balls before dipping his tongue back into his hole. His own cock strained against the absence of touch, a delicious ache. Arthur’s grip bit into the meat of his thigh, fingers strong enough to bruise if they wanted. Merlin bucked his hips as Arthur pushed back onto his face.

            A hand gripped his cock; Merlin shuddered at the rough friction of Arthur’s calloused fingers. His cock pulsed with freedom, the head red and tumescent. Merlin moaned into Arthur’s ass as Arthur started jerking him off, giving him a rough twist and squeeze.

            “I’m sorry, I didn’t quite catch that.” Arthur laughed at something that very well could have been a muffled _fuck you_. He shifted back, lowering himself onto his elbows, parentheses around Merlin’s hips. He brought the head of Merlin’s cock to his mouth, pursed lips wet against the dribbling slit. Merlin moaned long and low, chest rumbling, as Arthur sucked the head, hot tongue swirling around the ridge. Arthur lowered his head, taking all of him into his mouth. He bobbed along the length of his dick as Merlin squirmed beneath him. He gripped his thighs, used them as leverage to work his mouth over his cock. Spit dripped down Merlin’s balls to pool into a wet spot on the sheets below. Arthur took him in, down to the base, gagging around the fullness of him in his throat.

            A shudder ran through Merlin’s body. The heat in his belly boiled over into his chest and groin. His thighs tensed, toes curled in tight as fists, as his balls pulled up snug against his body. He gasped and came, hips bucking and shaking as he rode the waves of his orgasm. Arthur choked above him, sputtering as he hurried to swallow the ropey strings of cum shooting down his throat. A taste like bitter almonds splashed across his tongue. He lapped down every last drop. Gentle tremors fluttered up Merlin’s arms as his heartbeat beat out a drumline. His dick popped free of Arthur’s mouth, hitting his stomach with a wet _smack_. Merlin heard Arthur lick his lips as he sat up.

            Merlin’s tongue flopped lazily against Arthur’s hole, mind gone foggy. Still, even as Arthur lifted off to swing his legs around, his mouth moved against an imagined ass, letting out a petulant whine as the sudden distance. He reached out feebly towards Arthur.

            “Still hungry?” Arthur folded his legs on either side of Merlin’s torso, squatting on his chest. The weight of him crushed his ribcage; Merlin’s breath came through a constricted tunnel. He nodded up at Arthur, who stared down at him. Merlin’s face shone with a sheen of spit, lips wet, jaw aching and mouth slightly open. His swollen tongue lolled out of his mouth. His sex mussed hair stuck out at every angle. He looked every bit a thoroughly fucked angel.

            Arthur ran a hand through his hair as he bent double to kiss him, sloppy tongues moving languorously against each other. He straightened, one hand threaded through Merlin’s hair, the other gripping his cock, which bobbed above Merlin’s face. “Open up.”

            Despite the ache in his jaw, Merlin opened wide, tongue lapping at the head of Arthur’s cock. Arthur stroked himself, fingers tight around his dick and the raven locks of Merlin’s head. Droplets of precum hit Merlin’s tongue; he lapped them up like a milk-deprived kitchen. It shouldn’t have turned Arthur on, Merlin’s crazed gaze, his open-mouthed, starving whines, but _fuck_ , did it ever. His balls slapped against his chin as he tugged himself off with rapid, frantic strokes. His orgasm hit him, sudden and unforgiving, with all the force and speed of a tsunami.

            “ _F-fuck_ , oh, shit, I’m, _fuck—_ ” The tendons in Arthur’s neck, pulled tight as bowstrings, stood out against his flushed skin. His cum splattered across Merlin’s face, coating his cheeks and chin. His tongue wagged at the droplets, licking his lips. He swallowed every sweet drop that fell into his mouth, the rest rapidly cooling on his skin as Arthur shifted, flopping onto the bed beside him. He laughed, breathy and joyful, scooping Merlin into his arms. “ _heh_ , that was…”

            “Yeah.” Merlin huffed in breathless rapture. “Magical.” He wiped a finger along his jaw, popping it into his mouth, sucking it clean with an obscene hallow in his cheeks. “Hold on, I need to—” Merlin shimmied free of Arthur, hopping to the bathroom to wash himself off. Arthur lay back, hands behind his head, watching the bounce of his ass disappear.

            Merlin looked at himself in the mirror. Cum rapidly dried on his chin, his hair sprang forth in all directions, his mouth glistened as his lips swelled to porn-star proportions. He admired the series of angry, red kisses dotting his neck and chest, fingers reverently tracing the outline of Arthur’s lips. His cheeks ached, and it was not till he looked in the mirror and saw himself smiling that he figured out why.

            Merlin slinked from the bathroom, crouching on the bed and crawling towards Arthur. They lied together, wrapped in the others’ arms, silent. Merlin listened to the hushed murmur of Arthur’s heart, his breath slow like wind through his hair. Gentle fingers traced circles on his lower back. Sleep slid between them as Merlin’s eyelids grew heavy. A voice called to him from far away; he struggled to lift his head. Haloed in light, two blue eyes met his. “What?” He asked, sleep mumbled.

            “I said, what time do you need to be at work tomorrow?”

            “S’ Halloween, you twit. Shop’s closed.” Merlin worked his lazy lips to form words. Arthur smiled, turned, and switched off the light.

            “Guess that means we can sleep in.” They hunkered down below the blankets. Arthur kissed a promise into the top of his head. Merlin slipped below the waves of sleep.

 

            It was slow, at first. The courtship careful. Arthur had woken so fearful that first morning, worried the Merlin in his arms would vanish in a wisp with his other dreams. He’d stayed so still, afraid to wake him. When Merlin had finally stretched out and looked up at him, his blue eyes red-ringed and weighed down with bags, Arthur thought all the love in his chest would break him.

            “Morning.” Merlin had gargled out with a sleep-rough voice. “Fancy a cup of coffee?”

            They spent the morning together in bed, Merlin slipping from the sheets to make them cup after cup. Arthur thought he’d never tire of the sight of Merlin’s round, pert little ass bouncing its way to the kitchen.

            When it came time for lunch, Arthur was sure Merlin would leave. But he casually rolled over onto his side, head pillowed on Arthur’s thigh, and asked, “Do you want to cook, or shall we order in?”

            The same thing happened at dinner, and by the time they’d polished off the pizza and finished the RomCom Merlin had picked off of Netflix, it was time for bed. Arthur brushed his teeth and washed him face, coming out of the bathroom to find Merlin snuggled up in bed. It broke Arthur’s heart a little, the sight of him, eyes shut and lips ever so slightly parted. Arthur peeled back the sheets as quietly as possible and slipped in beside him. Almost automatically, Merlin looped an arm round Arthur’s middle, pulling him close. Arthur nestled his nose atop the mop of black hair, breathing deep the intoxicating smell of him.

            Arthur awoke alone the next day.

            He rolled over, his hand falling on empty bed. The spot beside him, though abandoned, was still warm. Merlin must have just left. A strange grief, tinged with worry, seized Arthur’s heart, and he sprang, ready for action. He nearly tripped over his pants from two days ago, and in his mad pirouette to stay upright he spotted the note hastily scribbled on a piece of paper on the bedside table.

_Sorry to leave without saying goodbye, but I have to open the shop and you looked too peaceful to wake. Stop by for a cup, alright? I miss you already._

_\--M_

            Arthur definitely was _not_ misty eyed, but he clutched the note to his chest all the same. He hastily dressed, throwing on the first, decently clean clothes he could grab, hurrying out of the house. He hailed a taxi and perched on the edge of his seat the whole five minute drive. He burst through the front door, red-faced, with a quiet tinkle of the bell overhead to announce his arrival.

            “Oh. Arthur.” Merlin looked up with a start, nearly dropping the stack of cups he was holding. A smile spread across his face till all his teeth showed. “I wasn’t expecting you so—”

            “I missed you,” Arthur hurried to say, worried the courage would leave him before he could confess, “too. I missed you too.”

            The smile slowly faded from Merlin’s face, and Arthur’s stomach dropped down around his feet. _Stupid_ , he thought as Merlin set the cups down on the counter, _stupid stupid. It’s too much too soon_. Arthur rubbed at the back of his neck as Merlin circled the counter, trying desperately to think of some way to take the words back, to maintain his cool, aloof façade.

            Merlin walked right up to him. Arthur opened his mouth to speak, but Merlin wrapped his hands around the back of Arthur’s neck and pulled him into a kiss. They broke apart after what felt like ages. A faint blush crept up the sides of Merlin’s nose; Arthur felt a flush growing across his neck. They blinked at the other, grinning like idiots.

            “Coffee?” Merlin asked, fingers toying with the hair at the nape of Arthur’s neck.

            “In a minute,” he said, leaning in for another kiss.

            Arthur did eventually get his coffee, and more than a few kisses, before customers started to filter in, Gwaine among them. He beamed at the both of them, coming up to clap a hand on Arthur’s back.

            “There you two are! I barely caught you before you dashed off last night. I hope the party wasn’t too much of a bore.”

            “No!” Merlin hurried to explain, tossing a look over his shoulder as he made Gwaine’s order. “No, not at all. We had a lovely time, truly. We just—”

            “—had some business to attend to,” Arthur finished. Gwaine quirked an eyebrow and flashed a smug grin. “Some…private business. It really was a great party. Thank you again for inviting me.”

            “Of course,” Gwaine said as he took the offered mug from Merlin, “the pleasure was all mine.”

            “How was it,” Merlin asked, “after we left?”

            “Oh, you know, the usual. One of the junior associates threw up in the sink, another one flashed half the room. All in all, a rather good time.” Gwaine tipped his head back, taking a deep pull of his coffee. His shirt collar, slightly askew, folded down to reveal a deep, mauve bruise on the side of his neck.

            “Yes, well,” Arthur nodded his chin at Gwaine’s hickey, “someone certainly seems to have enjoyed himself.” Arthur grinned as Gwaine hurried to button up his shirt, and Merlin was grateful for the scarf draped around his neck. “Was it that massive fellow, the one who’s part tree?”

            “Are you asking me if I climbed his wood?” Gwaine asked with a smirk. “Jealous?”

            “Hardly. I had quiet the enjoyable evening myself, thank you very much.”

            “Did you now?” Gwaine gave Merlin a knowing look. “Seems I’m out ten dollars then.”

            “You bet on us?” Merlin squeaked, a blush rapidly rising to his cheeks. “With whom?”

            “With that lovely friend of yours, Gwen. If you two had kept it in your pants a couple more days, I would have won. I think I deserve a free coffee.”

            “Oh, I’ll tell you what you deserve,” Arthur warned, rolling up his sleeves menacingly.

            Gwaine held his hands up in surrender, laughing good-heartedly. “Hey, I’m happy for you both, truly. But Arthur.” Gwaine’s face formed into a hard mask, all mirth and lightness gone from his eyes. “If you break his heart, I’ll ruin you.” For a moment neither of them moved. Merlin could hear the clock ticking on the wall behind him. Then Gwaine grabbed his cup and flashed them a grin. “Well, got to run. Thanks for the coffee, Merlin!”

            They watched him leave, a soft tinkle marking his exit. Arthur, blanched, his pulse racing, turned to Merlin, who fiddled with the knot of his apron. “You sure you two never…?”

            “Never. He’s just…over-protective, I guess.” A machine behind Merlin _dinged_ , and he spun round to shut it off.

            Arthur studied the grain of the counter before clearing his throat. “He doesn’t have to be.”

            “Sorry,” Merlin said over the hiss of the espresso machine, “what?”

            “I said, he doesn’t have to be. Protective, I mean. I…I won’t give him cause to be.” Arthur looked up and met Merlin’s eyes. “I promise.”

            Merlin stared at him. He blinked, and made his way round the counter. Arthur bristled, worried Merlin would tell him he was being too serious, that _they_ were getting too serious. He opened his mouth to explain away what he’d just said, when Merlin grabbed his face and kissed him. It knocked the breath right out of him, and Arthur was still reeling when Merlin finally let go.

            “I know you won’t.” They stared at each other for a long moment, Merlin’s hands cupping the sides of Arthur’s face, Arthur’s fingers toying with the knot of Merlin’s apron. The door behind them jingled open, and Merlin withdrew with a reluctant sigh. “I’ve got to see to the customers,” he said, taking position once more behind the counter. “But if you’re free, maybe we could do dinner?”

            “Like a proper date?” Arthur asked, straightening his tie.

            “Yeah,” Merlin beamed, and Arthur would have sworn his ears turned an irresistible shade of pink, “like a proper date. If you want.”

            “I’d love to.”

            Arthur picked him up at six, when the shop closed, and they went to his favorite Indian restaurant. While they sampled curries and dipped naan into dals, they exchanged facts about their lives. Arthur paraded out a line or prep schools he’d attended, followed by Cambridge before entering the workforce at his father’s company. He talked about his mother and how she’d died, how he still missed her, even though he’d only been a child. Merlin talked about being raised by a single mother, too hard working by any measure, and how he’d fallen in love with the idea of owning his own café on a school trip to Paris. Merlin didn’t mention his father, and Arthur didn’t ask. Arthur tried to pay for dinner, but Merlin insisted on splitting it. The argument verged on heated until Arthur made Merlin promise to let him pay next time.

            “So there’ll be a next time?” Merlin asked as they waited for the valet to bring Arthur’s car around.

            “I certainly hope so.”

            Inside the car, Merlin proceeded to mock Arthur’s CD collection— _who listens to_ Kansas _?_ —while Arthur navigated through downtown traffic. Without even realizing, Arthur drove home, more muscle memory than clear intention. He hurried to change lanes before Merlin could notice, but it was already too late.

            “Isn’t that your place back there?” Merlin asked, twisting round in his seat to look out the back window. “Did you miss the turn?”

            “I figured I’d drop you off at your place.” Arthur made a point of keeping his voice level and his gaze forward, not wanting to seem brutish or over-eager. He’d certainly _wanted_ Merlin to come home with him, but the conversation had never arisen during dinner, and he didn’t want to assume. For the first time in a long time, Arthur wanted a relationship to work, and he didn’t want to turn Merlin off by making him think sex was the only thing he was interested in.

            Merlin turned back around and leaned back against his seat. “Oh. Alright then. I just thought—”

            “What?”

            “Nothing.” Merlin turned to stare out the window. “It’s stupid.”

            “Merlin.” Arthur flicked his eyes to Merlin’s face as he took a hand off the wheel and squeezed his knee. “Nothing you have to say could be stupid.”

            Without looking, Merlin’s own hand came to rest on Arthur’s. Their fingers intertwined, and Merlin gave a squeeze. He turned to face Arthur, bottom lip worried between his teeth. “It’s just…I was really hoping to fuck you tonight.”

            Arthur nearly swerved into the other lane. In his haste to turn the car around, he almost collided with a minivan, yet he couldn’t bring himself to care. The only though in his head, indeed occupying all higher brain functions, was the idea of Merlin’s cock buried deep in his ass.

            He parked at a sharp angle, not even bothering to turn off the lights as he and Merlin scrambled out of the parking garage and up the stairs to Arthur’s apartment. As soon as the door was shut, Merlin fisted handfuls of his shirt and slammed Arthur against the wall, drinking kisses from his mouth, dying of thirst.

            Merlin tore at his clothes, shedding layers as they stumbled back towards the bedroom. They fell on the bed with a huff amid a storm of giggles, Merlin nipping down Arthur’s throat.

            “You— _ah_ —can’t leave any— _oh_ —marks. I have a— _uh_ —board meeting tomorrow.” Arthur wound a hand through Merlin’s hair, tugging his face up to meet his. His kissed his lips once, twice, marveling at the blue of his eyes.

            “And you don’t want everyone to be jealous?” Merlin whispered in Arthur’s ear, nibbling on a lobe.

            “Something like that. Now,” Arthur hooked his ankles around Merlin’s waist, hugging him in close so their cocks rubbed together, “didn’t someone say something about fucking me?”

            Even in the dim light, Merlin’s grin shone. As he rummaged through the bedside table for condoms and lube, Arthur rearranged, rolling over onto his knees, propped up on his elbows. He spread his thighs wide, sinking his hips low. He wiggled his ass as Merlin tore open a condom and rolled it onto his dick.

            “Take your time, I can just fuck myself.” Arthur threw a smirk over his shoulder.

            Merlin glared and brought a hand down on one of Arthur’s cheeks. He yelped at the sting. “You know, this wouldn’t be the first time I told you to go fuck yourself.”

            “But it’s better if you d— _oh_.” Arthur’s jibe melted into a throaty moan as Merlin slipped a lube-slick finger inside.

            “I’m sorry, I didn’t quite catch that.” Arthur could _hear_ the shit-eating grin on Merlin’s face, never mind the fact his eyes were screwed shut at the glorious sensation of Merlin’s finger wiggling around inside him. Merlin crooked a knuckle and nudged at a bundle of nerves just inside Arthur’s ass, and Arthur practically melted. He added a second finger, digging them in to the knuckle, twirling and twisting them before sliding them out till nothing but the tips remained inside. He carried on like this, other hand palmed on Arthur’s ass, spreading him wide, till Arthur’s thighs quaked and his cock drippled onto the bedspread.

            “God, just—” Arthur sucked in a breath as a third finger slipped inside him, “Merlin, _please_.” Arthur whined at the sudden loss as Merlin pulled his fingers free, but he didn’t have long to mourn as he heard the snig of the lube bottle and the distinctive squirt as Merlin applied a generous helping to his dick. A slick hand grabbed Arthur’s hip and pulled him back. Merlin positioned himself, the head of his cock snug against the loose circle of Arthur’s hole.

            He slid in easy, and Arthur let out a groan from deep in his chest. Slowly, Merlin pushed inside, stopping whenever Arthur hissed through clenched teeth. After what felt like ages, Merlin bottomed out, sheathed to the hilt, his balls snug against the curve of Arthur’s ass. He rubbed a soothing hand between his shoulder blades, bending forward to press kisses to the back of Arthur’s neck.

            “Let me know when you’re ready.”

            Arthur reached back to lace his fingers through Merlin’s. His head sunk into the pillow as he did his best to slow his breathing and relax his muscles. He savored the delicious ache as his ass stretched to accommodate Merlin’s cock. His wasn’t the biggest Arthur had ever seen, but it was up there, and thick too, not to mention it had been who knows how long since Arthur had gotten fucked. Slowly, the burn turned to pleasure, and Arthur nodded his head against the pillow.

            “Go slow.”

            And Merlin did, sliding out halfway before pushing gently back in with a groan, matched by Arthur, who ground the pillow between his teeth. Merlin’s sweat-slick grip slipped on Arthur’s ass as he scooted his knees closer. Gradually, he picked up the pace, hips beginning to snap against Arthur’s pliant body. Merlin shifted the angle, and soon a loose string of moans were rolling from his mouth, the area behind his eyes exploding with stars.

            “ _Fuck_ , Arthur, I knew you were a tight-ass, but this is incredible.” Arthur opened his mouth to bite out a retort, but his words melted into a throaty groan as the head of Merlin’s cock ground against his prostate. “Shit, Arthur, I— _fuck_ —I’m not going to be able to hold out. Oh fuck, you’re going to make me come.”

            Merlin pounded into Arthur, hips snapping, balls swinging in the air between his thighs. Arthur pushed back in time with each of Merlin’s thrusts. He wound a hand down below his body, grabbing his own tumescent cock, jerking off with frantic abandon. He felt his body tighten, quickened with orgasm, and heard Merlin moan behind him. He spilled over his fingers, hot and tacky, followed swiftly after by Merlin.

            “Fuck, fuck, Arthur— _fuck_!” Merlin leaned his body over Arthur’s, chest draped over his back, as he pushed Arthur down into the mattress. His thighs quacked and his toes curled into the sheets as he came, collapsing onto him, spent by the force of his orgasm.

            They lay like that, Merlin atop Arthur, for some time after, their breathing labored and heavy. Their skin glistened with sweat; a heady scent of musk hung in the air. Arthur felt Merlin softening inside him, and at length Merlin slid out as he rolled over. Almost instinctively, he reached an arm out, scooping Arthur into an embrace, his head pillowed on Merlin’s chest.

            “That was—” Merlin began.

            “Yeah,” Arthur finished. “You were—”

            “Thanks.” They cuddled together in a comfortable silence, the long fingers of Merlin’s hand stroking down Arthur’s back. A weary drowsiness soon overtook Arthur, and his eyelids grew oppressively heavy. “We should really get cleaned up,” Merlin murmured, his own voice leaden with sleep.

            “Tomorrow.” Arthur snuggled closer, his head tucked under Merlin’s chin. “Don’t want to move.”

            They fell asleep like that, wrapped up in the other, messy with their love.

 

            The next day followed a similar pattern—Arthur awoke after Merlin had already gone, and he dressed in a flurry to find him at the shop before taking him out after work and finishing the night together. In fact, every day that week, and the one after, Merlin spent with Arthur, to the point that Gwen phoned him on her lunch break the following Tuesday to ask if he’d been kidnapped.

            “Blink once if they’re listening and you’re under duress.”

            “You can’t see me,” Merlin said, phone shouldered up to his ear while he reached for another bag of beans, “wait, can you?”

            “Merlin, I’m being serious.”

            “So am I! I told you, I’m fine. Better than fine. Things are going…really well with Arthur.”

            “So well you haven’t spent the night in your own bed in two weeks.”

            “Well,” Merlin considered as he stepped down off the stool, “yeah. I thought you’d be happy for me.”

            “Merlin, I’m _thrilled_ for you. You know that. I’m just worried things are moving a little fast. Are you sure Arthur is as serious about this as you are?”

            The thought had never previously occurred to Merlin, and it struck him now with such force that he had to lean against the shelf for support. Up until this point he had assumed Arthur’s affection matched his own, but now doubt trickled into the recesses of his mind. Was Arthur as serious about their relationship as Merlin? Was it even a relationship? They had never discussed terminology—was Arthur his boyfriend? Was Merlin his? Or were they simply ‘having fun’?

            Worry would not leave Merlin’s mind, even long after he got off the phone with Gwen. The lunch rush offered a brief respite from his thoughts, lost as he was in the whirl of clients, but the second he had a quiet moment to himself, doubt once more plagued him. By day’s end, he determined to speak with Arthur on the matter, but what to say? As he wiped down tables, he formed and reformed sentences in his head, but they all sounded forced and stuffy, too serious, verging on clingy. Merlin wanted to appear uninterested, aloof, but also convey his deep-seated desire to be with Arthur.

            Therein lay the dilemma.

            Over dinner, Arthur noticed Merlin was distracted. He picked dejectedly at his potatoes, taking a second longer than he should to respond to Arthur’s questions about his day, his eyes wandering across the table, reluctant to meet Arthur’s gaze.

            “Merlin,” Arthur reached out, grabbing Merlin’s hand, “is something wrong?”

            Merlin set down his fork and looked at Arthur. His mouth went dry as he worried his tongue against his teeth. “Arthur, what are we doing?”

            “Eating dinner?” Arthur quirked and eyebrow, using his free hand to gesture to their plates.

            “Arthur.” Merlin turned his hand over to lace his fingers with Arthur’s. “I mean, what are _we_ ,” he waved a hand between them, “doing.”

            “Oh.” Arthur sat a little straighter in his seat, suddenly serious. Merlin watched a ridge form between his eyebrows, the same he got during board meetings, indicating deep thought. “I, well. We’re dating, aren’t we?” Arthur looked at Merlin, eyes wide and hopeful. “I thought we were dating.”

            “We are!” Merlin shouted. He blushed and lowered his voice. “I mean, I want us to be. I just…I didn’t know what you want. And then Gwen said maybe we were moving too fast and—”

            “Too fast?” Arthur leaned in, tightening his grip on Merlin’s hand, giddy with his answer, “it’s not like I’ve proposed!” And then the idea was in the air and they both blushed, laughing.

            “I guess just how much time I’ve spent here.” Merlin turned to take in the contours of Arthur’s apartment, noticing already hints of his existence there: a sweater draped over a chair, his favorite mug, the book he’d been reading. “I mean, she has a point. I haven’t been to my apartment except to grab extra clothes. I think all my plants are dying.” Merlin offered a shy smile, aiming for the joke.

            “You should just move in then.”

            Merlin blinked at Arthur, certain he’d misheard him. “I should what?”

            Arthur, his cheeks a fiery crimson, stared down at the table as he muttered. “You should move in. With me. Here.” He darted a hopeful glance upwards. “If you want.”

            Merlin’s mouth gaped open, his mind thoroughly scrambled. His grip must have loosened, because Arthur began to slip his hand away before Merlin grabbed his wrist, pulling him close. “Yes. Arthur, I—yes, I’d love to.”

            Arthur’s whole face lit up like the sun. “Really? I mean, no pressure, if you don’t want—”

            “I do, Arthur. I really do.”

 

            They rented a moving van the next day, loading Merlin’s things into the back of the truck and hauling them either to Arthur’s or a storage space. Arthur emptied out a drawer for Merlin’s clothes, making room in his closet for coats and shoes. While some might have thought two weeks was too soon to be moving in together, they thankfully kept it to themselves. And Merlin had never been happier, rolling over every morning to Arthur’s face, sleep-soft, blond hair tussled and falling across his brow. With tender fingers—careful lest he wake him—he’d brush the strands aside, cupping his cheek as he leaned in to plant a gentle kiss to his lips. Soon, he’d have to slip from bed, quietly dressing before going to work, leaving Arthur asleep behind him, yet secure in the knowledge he’d be there waiting for him. But for how he could rest on his elbows, staring down at the face of the man he loved.

 

**One Year Later**

            Arthur pressed Merlin up against the shelves, knocking off a bag of beans. The rich smell of coffee spilled into the air as he kissed his lips with all the fever of a dying man. His fingers hurried at the buttons of his shirt, hungry for the skin underneath. Merlin grabbed his hips, crashing them into his, and Arthur groaned against his mouth.

            “ _Shh_ ,” Merlin warned, “someone will hear us.”

            “Isn’t that the point?” Arthur’s breath puffed hot against the shell of Merlin’s ear. He sucked a ripe plum on the side of his neck, teeth scraping flushed skin. Merlin’s pulse raced beneath his lips. “If you want me to be quiet so badly, you’ll just have to keep my mouth busy, now won’t you?” Arthur arched an eyebrow, grin granting a flash of white. Merlin laughed and pushed him down onto his knees. He undid his belt as Arthur tugged on his zipper. He nuzzled the mound of Merlin’s cock through the soft cotton of his underwear. He dragged his teeth over the swell.

            “ _Fuck_ , careful. Here,” Merlin pulled himself free. His cock bobbed in the air before Arthur’s face, red and swollen, tip glistening. Arthur licked his lips, looking up at Merlin. “Well go on. Not going to suck itself, now is it?”

            “So commanding.” Arthur gripped Merlin’s cock, giving it an exploratory squeeze. Merlin shuddered and bucked forward. “Must be rubbing off on you.”

            “ _Mm_ , speaking of rubbing…”

            Arthur’s laugh was muffled by Merlin’s cock. His tongue swiped along the underside as he glided his mouth along the length. Merlin curled his fingers in Arthur’s golden hair, biting his lip to keep from crying out. When he came—hips smacking hard enough against the shelves to make the metal sing—Arthur swallowed every drop, rising slowly to kiss Merlin, mouth full of the taste of himself. Their foreheads rested together. Arthur nuzzled Merlin’s nose.

            “Well,” Merlin huffed, red-cheeked, “good morning to _you_ too.”

            Arthur hummed contentedly as his fingers graced slowly up Merlin’s sides. “That’s what you get when you leave without saying goodbye.”

            “Look, not all of us can sleep in all morning. Some of us actually have to go to work. Besides, my landlord’s a real hard-ass. I’d hate to piss him off.”

            “That so?” Arthur peppered Merlin’s face and neck with kisses. “Maybe you should sleep with him, get special treatment.” Merlin wrinkled his nose and shook his head.

            “Nah. He’s a bit of a dick. Plus, he’s not even that handsome.” Merlin yelped as Arthur nipped his ear, not unkindly. He soothed it with his tongue as he redid the buttons on Merlin’s pants. Once fully dressed, they wandered back out into the shop. Merlin smoothed down his hair in the polished reflection of one of the tables while Arthur sauntered back around the counter. “Are we doing yours for dinner tonight?”

            “I thought we could eat out. Café Intermezzo?”

            Merlin, who’d climbed a stepladder to write the day’s special on the menu board, turned round to look down at Arthur. “Fancy. What’s the occasion?”

            Arthur smiled bright as the sun as he fingered the ring box in his pocket. “Do I need a reason to treat the man I love?”

            Both their hearts thrilled at the word. It hung in the air between them, a golden bell. Oh, how Merlin loved the sound of it. “Pick me up after work?” He dusted off his hands, admiring the looping curls of the menu item: _Sugar, (Pumpkin) Spice, and Everything Nice Latte_.

            “It’s a date.”


End file.
